State of Denial


I live in a happy place. My husband loves me, my teenage son is not a crazed lunatic, and my cats generally want to spend time with me. There’s always food in my pantry, and my car doesn’t break down at inconvenient times. I’m my own boss, and I get to work with the most amazing people on the planet. I set my own work hours, and my own vacation schedule.

So what’s the trouble?
My boss is a real b^tch.
When I get up in the morning, she wants me to start work. Even before coffee. There oughta be a law against that. When I break for lunch, I microwave something and sit back down in front of the computer. After dinner, I’m back at the keyboard until bedtime.  My own book’s protagonist hasn’t made it to the inciting incident yet, but most days the fuse is burning to a stick of dynamite in the shared clutches of me and my boss.


So one of my big goals for this year has been to work less and live more. “No one gets to the end of life and says, ‘I wish I’d worked more’.”
Are there any other closet workaholics out there?
We need to band together. While we have high ambitions to help people and change lives… we must not forget that the most important life we ought to change is our own.

So I’m taking time off with a good friend to gain perspective, develop a new strategy, recharge, and do some writing of my own.I don’t have it all figured out just yet (I hear the collective Damn under your breath). But while I’m journaling, I do want to send a letter to my recent self and tell her some of the secrets I’m learning. I know her street address, but… “what’s the ZIP Code for the state of denial?

(*with fond memories of Nancy A and Ian H who sang a song by this title back at Capital University in 1995.)

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