Old Routines Die Hard

Before I was laid off from my job of almost 19 years (I was a technical writer for more than 25 years), last March, I was a creature of habit.

I would wake early, get ready for work, and head out. I liked to arrive at the office as early as possible—usually no later than 7—to get set up for the day and try to get as much accomplished before most of my colleagues arrived. I enjoyed working with my peers but wouldn't be as productive as I was when I was on my own.

Image: ChatGPT

When COVID-19 shut everything down and we all found ourselves working from home, my routine didn't change much. I'd sleep in a little later but I'd still be showered, dressed, fed, and at my desk at a decent hour—no later than 8.

In the office, I liked to be done between 3 and 3:30; at home, by 4.

Now that I'm unemployed, my weekday schedule hasn't changed much. Because I'm not bound to a 40-hour week, I don't feel the need to be at my desk early. I am usually awake by 7 but will often linger in bed until 8, catching up on news, social media, and any correspondence.

I'll also play a couple of games that get my brain going.

Instead of working for a multinational corporation, however, I now work for myself, writing my novel, putting together blog posts, and editing videos for my YouTube channel. It's a non-paying job (so far) but it leaves me happier than I've been in years.

But there is a bit of a downside to this new routine. It seems to have me behaving as though I was still in the old routine.

I sometimes feel chained to my desk. I feel as though I have to be productive, somehow, between the hours of 9 and 4, or sometimes even much later, depending on whether I'm caught up in writing and don't want to lose focus.

On some occasions, when I have to run errands or have a medical appointment, I feel that I have to get back to work as soon as I can. Rarely to I tell myself, take your time: enjoy being out. A couple of months ago, when I went to the Rideau Canal for a solo paddle, on a week day, I felt as though I was playing hooky.

It felt good to be out but there was an underlying pull to get back behind my desk.

Before I was laid off, I had thoughts about retiring and how I'd have the time to do all of the things that I want to do: I'd go on trips; I'd take my kayak out whenever I wanted; I'd learn to become proficient with my drone; I'd take my camera gear and capture so many photos; I'd make a steady amount of YouTube videos.

And, I'd write what I want to write, when I wanted to write it.

So far, I'm writing, almost every day. But sometimes, it feels like as much as a job as it is a passion. I've somehow got the belief that unless I'm working at my desk, I'm not being productive.

I've gone on trips, often combining them with kayaking. But I tend to do that on the weekend, with DW, who is still gainfully employed. I haven't touched my drone very much, only taking it out when the weather is optimal (low wind) or I have a specific idea to use it.

Peru, of course, was our greatest trip in many years but it was planned and paid for before I was laid off. DW and I will be leaving on a vacation, again, on Friday, where we'll camp and kayak in some pretty spectacular places. Stay tuned for that.

My cameras have literally gathered dust. The only time I pick them up is to clean them off. Even though I've told myself that tomorrow, I'll get up early and head out with my cameras, I've never followed through.

My desk keeps calling me.

I have made more YouTube videos this year than I've made in previous years but not as many as I had hoped. I've done the editing on weekends and on weekdays, depending on when I've captured the video clips, so at least I've mostly kept that plan.

Maybe, I haven't convinced myself that I'm retired. I thought I had a few years to prepare myself—I didn't expect to retire until my 63^rd birthday—and I suddenly found myself in a position where I didn't have a job.

I had come up with the initial idea for Dark Water on the very weekend before I was laid off, and my initial reaction to my job loss was that I thought, great! I can put my full attention into writing this book.

I did throw myself into writing my crime novel and I thrived. But now that it's done, I don't want to stop. I want to start the next book right away, even though Dark Water hasn't even been submitted to a publisher.

When DW and I return from our vacation, I'm going to force myself into a new routine. I'm going to commit myself to doing specific things on specific days that keep me away from my desk. Of course, there will be days where I sit down to write but they won't necessarily be 9 to 5 time slots. I hope our vacation breaks me of the old routine.

Wish me luck. Old routines die hard.

Legend In My Mind

I seek neither fame nor fortune: but if lots of people knew of me, said nice things when my name came up, I'd be happy.

Not having to worry about cash would be nice, too.

When I think about what I wanted to do with my life, when I was a young kid and my future was a blank slate, ready to be outlined and shaped, my career paths tended toward a spotlight.

I wanted to be a writer from the time I was in the fifth grade, when I wrote The Hiccuppy Monster with a couple of friends and our teacher had me read it to kindergarten classrooms; in grade six, when our teacher, Mr. Townsend, focused on creative writing, would always have me read my short stories to my classmates.

It's no wonder that, when I've taken those silly Facebook quizzes that ask, What Career Were You Meant For?, I've learned—twice—that I was meant to be a writer.

I love writing, and as much as I am a shy person, I love reading my writing to whatever audience cares to hear it. When I was in Toastmasters, I enjoyed writing a speech and presenting it to a roomful of people.

I love acting, and hamming it up. And while I'd love to perform in a play, my shyness draws a line at putting myself out there. But that isn't to say I haven't done it: in high school, some friends and I put on a rendition of Monty Python's Restaurant Sketch for an end-of year drama night. It was fun (I played John Cleese's character, Mungo), but I never pursued more acting until much later.

Again, it was in Toastmasters.

Because the main goal in this public-speaking organization is to encourage people to go outside their zone of comfort, I decided to follow a path that took me to performing. I delivered a passage from my novel, Songsaengnim, taking on the role of Roland as he describes the five stages of grief. I spoke in Roland's voice, Scottish accent and all. I got angry. I cried. I went into a rage—literally throwing a chair halfway across the room. I brought fellow Toastmasters to tears.

I loved every minute of it.

On another night, I returned to Monty Python, and performed a one-man show of The Holy Grail. In 15 minutes. I re-wrote the script to fit the allotted time. I played several roles. I had back-and-forth dialog with myself. I even sang some of the songs.

I loved every minute of it.

Someday, I may try my hand at acting. Maybe.

I love to sing. I do it around the house, when I'm cleaning or when I'm in the shower. Sometimes, when I'm cooking. In high school, I wanted to be in a band. I couldn't play guitar or piano, but I could sing. And yet, I never pursued a career in music. I would sometimes sing at parties, belting it out along with the records that played.

I've gone caroling at Christmas. I will sing in public, if asked: the volume at which I project depends on how much liquid courage I have in me.

For more than a year, I've gathered with friends for an evening of Karaoke at a downtown pub on various Saturday nights. I've been told my voice is good. It's as much as I'd pursue on my own, though I've toyed with the possibility of doing more. Not for fame, nor for fortune, but for another word that begins with F.

Fun.

I'd like to become more serious with my photography. This year—within the next month—I will have a new camera. I would like to sell some of my work, perhaps hanging some of it in restaurants, or pubs, in the hopes that someone would find value in them. Perhaps I'll publish a coffee-table book, with some of my best photos.

I do these things because, more than a writer, or an actor, or a singer, or a photographer, I'm an artsy old fart, perhaps some sort of Renaissance Man. If any of my interests and passions bring me fame or fortune, I will, indeed, find myself fortunate. (Obviously.)

For now, I'm just a legend in my own mind. And I'm okay with that.