The New Laziness

I read Seth Godin's blog (just like a bazillion other people do). He had another stellar post this morning on the New Laziness:

But the new laziness has nothing to do with physical labor and everything to do with fear. If you're not going to make those sales calls or invent that innovation or push that insight, you're not avoiding it because you need physical rest. You're hiding out because you're afraid of expending emotional labor.

He's spot on. People -- myself included -- operate out of fear of failure, that they don't know what they're doing, or that they might be rocking the boat. That's laziness.

Proverbs 13:4 says, "Lazy people want much but get little, but those who work hard will prosper.

Don't be afraid of a little hard work!

(Do yourself a favor, and if you don't subscribe to Seth's feed, do it!)

Time to Decompress...

I drive a lot. My commute is 75 miles in each direction. And though I only work in the office three days a week, I still spend at least 500 miles on the road each week. Add in the other miscellaneous driving I do, and I'm putting well over 2,000 miles on my car each month.

(For reference, I snapped this picture on January 2nd and I've gone over 3,000 miles since. This means I get a lot of oil changes.)

Typically, I spend about 100 minutes driving into work and 80 going home, since there's less traffic when I leave the office.

That's a lot of driving for anyone, but I have gotten used to the commute. I don't love it, but I can't say that I actually hate it, either. That drive home, spacing out as I maintain a certain cruise control speed in the fast-lane is peaceful alone time—the majority spent listening to the music, NPR, or audiobooks—does wonders for my post-work psyche.

Now, I don't have a stressful job. Sure, some days are busier than others, but it's nothing like a fast-paced, Crackberry, newsroom environments from my past gigs. Heck, even working at the travel agency caused more stress, since I was in charge of everything. Mostly, I do my thing, do it well, and leave it behind at the end of the day.

But for me, I still need that time in the car to decompress from my day. I use it as a transition from "work mode."

What's work mode? Work mode is how I get when I'm on task. It can happen in the office, at my real job, or when I'm banging away at the keyboard at home. As a guy, I can only handle one task at a time. I'll focus on that one thing and ignore everything else. This makes me a delightful conversationalist while I'm in work mode.

"Mmhmm... yeah, whatever."

"Uh, what'd you say?"

"(Dead silence)"

Yeah, I'm not that much fun in work mode.

The problem with work mode is that it takes me some time to work my way out of it. I can't just instantly leave the office and feel my brain turn to back toward my real life. Nope, it requires some coaching, some telling myself not to think about work stuff, and a lot of zen-like emptying of the mind. Not that I'm meditating while I'm driving... More likely, I'm just not thinking of anything.

And that part's great. I'm much more social and relaxed when I get home.

I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I was just thinking about it the other day and I wondered if anyone else has a "work mode?" Or is that purely an annoying Nagel trait?

(Yes, as you can see from my odometer, my Toyota Camry is the definition of a high-mileage car.)

Higher Education Blows

Let’s add up the tab of my pursuit of “higher education,” shall we?

Tuition:
Paid for by loans, has got me well over halfway to six figures in debt. In return, I get a degree that qualifies me to, well, do this – blog. Or I could work at a coffee shop and snobbily reference incestuous academic journals while I pour foam onto lattes for people in suits. Awesomeness.

Lost wages:
I didn’t have the greatest job in the world when I moved out of New York City and re-entered academia. But it wasn’t the worst, either. I got to do a lot of really cool things (in return, of course, for selling my mortal soul). The thing was, my soul then was apparently worth more than it is now – perhaps because it was less used? Looking at my friends who were on the roughly the same level I was and where they are now (rolling on piles of money, surrounded by many naked admirers while sipping champagne in high-rise apartments), I wonder at times, if that could have been me. Not the nude guy in the corner. The one with all the cash.

Direction:
I had started a career path that people have killed for. Literally. I saw someone get stabbed at a NBC Page interview. It wasn’t pretty. Then again, the girl that did it was, so she got the job. Now, I’m coming out of 2 1/2 years of sales experience in what might be a dying industry. But I could tell you the corresponding cities for over 300 airport codes, so I’m a wicked good trivia partner.

Hip status:
If you tell people you live in NYC, you’re cool. If you tell people you’re squatting in an office building that’s 15 feet from train tracks, you’re not. Rent savings mean nothing.

Nerd potential:
Back when I had a “real job,” I didn’t have any time for web 2.0. I was on Facebook, but never checked it. MySpace was a thing of the future. There was no blogging, there was no Twittering, there was no Google Reader and there was no (gasp) iPhone. Now, well, I have all of those (minus the MySpace as you no doubt recall from my Super Tuesday post.). Wow. I should just start playing Dungeons and Dragons and get it over with. Who’s up for a game in Second Life? I’ll bring my virtual, 28-sided die.

Ugh. I don’t know why I’m whining. Sorry to vent this all on you. I think the reassessment of my life began today when I dropped by my grad school’s bookstore and found out that it’s going to cost me $60 to buy a friggin’ black robe for graduation. I already HAVE a black robe from my first time getting a diploma.

But NO – this is different. A Master’s robe has funny sleeves that look like something Gandalf would wear. That’s why you have to give up your May grocery money, Mike. Wizard sleeves! We in higher education feel you haven’t paid quite enough yet for another piece of paper with your name on it. Go visit another ATM and shell out some more, okay?

Oh, and we’re not framing your diploma, either. That costs extra.

(I’m wearing my old robe anyway.)

Stress...

This is a photo of what my room looked like this morning, right before I ran out the door for work. Observe...

Kind of messy, right? (The bed has been made, though, so I get extra credit for that.)

The image got my brain working, algebraically, and I thought up this equation: S=FM2

Normally, I'm allergic to math and I've avoided taking anything even resembling a math class this century, but it was an Einstein lightbulb moment. Sparks flew, angels sang and a 80-watt cartoon bulb popped up over my cranium.

With four, no five, characters I had clearly illustrated a corresponding relationship in the Life of Mike. I could prove to my faithful readers (both of you), that the state of my mind (S) is equal (=) to the state of the floor mess squared (FM2).

As you can see, my floor's a little messy. For me, that's about as bad as it gets. I cannot stand clutter, hate wrinkled clothing and can't function in a dirty environment, so I'm usually pretty OCD about my things (just ask my sister/roommate). The only time I allow clutter to build up is when I don't have enough time to clean it up. A buildup like the one pictured takes about a week to accumulate. I can break it down day-by-day:

1) The stack of books are from my Non-Fiction Lit class, which meets on Mondays.
2) And some other books are from my Publicity class, which meets on Tuesday.
3) Wednesday I didn't do much besides go to work, but I didn't clean, either. Natch.
4) That white shape in the bottom, left-hand corner is an inflatable mattress. Jen had a friend over Thursday night.
5) Friday, I went to the gym before work, hence the schoolkid's backpack.
6) I worked late in the office on Saturday, coming home, dropped my blue Puma bag on the floor and cracked open a beer and one of the books to do homework. Par-taaaay!
7) Sunday and Monday, I went up to NH to see my girlfriend and do work, hence the black, skull-and-bones dop kit and the Target bag of laundry.

I don't remember when I wore the jeans or the scarf, but it was in there somewhere.

By now, you're probably wondering... "Why is Mike boring me with this?" and "Man, that was a long explanation, I should probably pretend to do five minutes of work since I'm in the office and all."

Basically, I'm apologizing for not posting. I've been stressed and busy. Last week, each day consisted of going to the office, working non-stop (I had two new people to train) and then coming home to immediately start homework.

It wasn't a good week.

I know I'm getting stressed out when my body starts to hurt (in addition to floor clutter buildup). I clench my teeth, so my jaw gets sore (when I wake up with a sore jaw, stress levels go from threat-level orange to red). My head hurts because I don't take water breaks at work and get dehydrated. My butt hurts because I get constipated from the lack of water and my sphincter becomes tighter than a balloon knot. My shoulders and back hurt because I don't take the time to remind myself to correct my terrible posture. And my eyes hurt because I have to stare at a computer monitor for 90% of my waking day.

Let's just say that now my teeth are flat, I'm chewing aspirin, we're out of toilet paper but I haven't noticed, I pee dust and I've developed a hump.

But, enough with the excuses... I'll get back to posting this week. Scout's honor. I can't let you down, right? I mean, you may actually have to be productive in your office environment and I simply cannot allow that to happen.

Those random profile questions...

In case you're not religiously reading my bio, here's my answer to Blogger's latest inane question.

Q. "What was the best time you've ever had licking stamps?"

A. "Oh geez... I was an intern (and then an interim PR person) for Major League Baseball International. We had a mass mailing to do one of my first weeks there and I spent an entire day licking stamps and posting them... my tongue felt like sandpaper and was about as thick as a T-bone.

"Then, the office manager told me about the sponges I could use to wet the stamps for me.

"I cried."

(On a related note... I'm in the office today and have absolutely zero motivation to do anything even remotely productive.)