Is Your Job A F*ck Yes?

It was true that I didn’t have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so? ~ Charles Bukowski
 
Mark Manson has a brilliant theory about relationships and love that if it’s not a fuck yes, it’s a no–there’s no reason why this can’t apply to all things in our lives, including careers.
 
If there is one thing we should do on this planet—one thing—it should be to find the thing that makes us feel most alive and work every single day at creating a career out of it.
 
The first step to taking our dream job home is being brave enough to begin.
 
Six months ago, I decided to quit my training wheel jobs and go steady with writing.
 
I was making approximately $150 dollars a month from my writing at this point.
 
It was a ballsy move and a big swing.
 
I came out of the womb black and blue, not breathing, with my umbilical cord wrapped around my neck, and I have remained resiliently stubborn to make things work since the time I took my first breath.
 
I don’t believe we can manifest our dream career while we are working a career that simply isn’t it.
 
There isn’t space for it.
 
Compare your mediocre job to being in a mediocre relationship, and you’re just waiting for that dream partner. But even if you find that dream partner, where is he/she going to sleep?
 
Your bed’s taken.
 
We have to create space for the things we desire to manifest in our lives.
 

 
So, I kicked all the so-so jobs out of my bed.
 
There was one week where I was flat broke—it was terrifying. Every single day I wondered if I was being a complete imbecile.
 
I had sixty dollars in my bank account. My propane tank ran out of gas. I didn’t have gas to cook or have a hot shower with. I needed gas for my car. I needed groceries.
 
I went to a second hand store and bought a Coleman stove from the 70’s, filled my car with $10 dollars worth of gas and bought enough oats, deli meat and bananas for a week.
 
It was the first time in my life I went into a grocery store and counted how much money I had, and added up every cent.
 
I was on a gluten free diet for my skin, and I remember looking at my cereal that cost $8 a box and thinking, what kind of starving artist can afford to be gluten free?
 
That week I showered in the ocean, slept in my car so I could rent my bed out for a few nights, ate my weight in oats, and wrote some funny poems.
 
I had family/friends from whom I could have asked for support in a heartbeat.
 
But I wanted to jump with both feet into what I love—writing.
 
I wanted to try.
 
I wanted to create space for writing to sweep me off my feet, and I wanted an empty bed to take my words home to.
 
After that week I had two new clients approach me to contribute monthly to their blogs/publications—paid.
 
I had two women from North Carolina connect with me about writing their biography/ten chapters in their book.
 
Abundance, abundance, abundance trailed in.
 
People said yes again and again and again.
 
I filled my propane tank up with gas, had a hot shower—it was so fucking good.
 
I went and bought my $8 gluten free cereal.
 
I ate it on my porch in the sunshine, chomping victoriously in an orange sweater as the fall leaves fell.
 
That week was incredibly important for me as an artist.
 
Having an unsupported space can sometimes be intimidating—not knowing is uncomfortable.
 
It was almost as if the universe was challenging me, saying, “Do you really want this? Really?”
 
And I had to yell, “YES! I want this, I will eat oats!”
 
I want to add that I am privileged not to have car payments, a mortgage, children and/or a partner to add into my choices.
 
But if you have the choice to choose what you love, and the balls to let it choose you back—do.
 
Settling is for suckers.

“The best thing you can possibly do with your life is to tackle the motherfucking shit out of it.”