Forcing Myself Out of My Rut

I heard it said once that a “rut is just a grave without ends…”  That, to a point and perfectly, describes my life in recent months.  In the past I’ve espoused a philosophy of never again taking a job simply because I need the money.  Then I turn right around and do just that.  Other than the time I tried my hand at selling cars, this could be the worst job I’ve ever had.

As a youth, I remember thinking that I never wanted to have a “nine to five” job.  I recall saying it out loud several times while I was in high school.  The fact that I had no drive to get a college education or learn a trade or walk some other traditional path caused no end of grief to my father and no end of friction between us.

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Back in 1994, I left my last job and have worked for myself, creating opportunities and projects, ever since.  The freedom to create whatever I’d like is exhilarating.  Some of the TV shows I created for local charities have been the most gratifying projects of my life.  Yet, since those projects ended in 2008, I have not been able to come up with anything I’d like to try.  Well, that’s not entirely true.  When I’ve gotten the time to sit at my laptop and write, be it this blog or any of my books, I feel alive.  Still, I have yet to determine how I can make a living as a writer.

The possibility also exists that I’m just a lazy bum.  That thought has occurred to me several times in my life.  But I hate working at a job just to pay bills.  Right now you’re probably thinking of all of the arguments against that somewhat questionable philosophy, i.e. food, shelter, medical care, etc.  And I hear you.  So, in addition to the possibility that I am a lazy bum, also exists the possibility that I am an idiot.  I have several friends, acquaintances and family members who would readily back up that statement.

I said to a friend recently, “How do you know if an offer of a boring job is a blessing (especially in this economy) or a test?  How do you know if you are being tested to see if you really want to follow a dream or your heart?”

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Still, my own idiosyncratic shortcomings and this abyss we call the American Economy aside, the bottom line is that I get up each morning and drive to a job, force myself to perform my tasks each agonizing second—many days with conflicting instructions from my employer—go home and watch my granddaughter when my daughter is working the late shift, then get up and do the same thing.

Now, before you abandon me for whining to you, especially when there are millions of others worse off than me, let me just sum this up as me wanting to do more with my life, to enjoy my life more before it is gone, yet not having the courage to follow my convictions.

Recently on Facebook, I saw a drawing showing a circle called Your Comfort Zone, and a little arrow pointing to an area outside that zone that said Where the Magic Happens.  Recalling that picture, I took a rather large leap for myself and contacted a Facebook friend and asked if I might join his group.  They hike together and camp together and meet for various social gatherings.  I’ve never been one to initiate contact.  Oh, I’ll talk with you at a party if you start the conversation, but for the most part, I keep to myself quite a bit.  So this was a pretty big leap for me.  But my rut was beginning to look more and more like a grave.

Of course he welcomed me and the very next day they were meeting for the monthly El Paseo Art Walk in Palm Desert, California.  From October through May, the galleries along this street offer hors d’ oeuvres and host receptions to introduce various artists to the community.  Though it was short notice, things worked out that I was free that evening and was able to join them.

Of course, I changed my mind several times throughout the day, figuring since I was not good at meeting and talking with new people, I would not go.  But I recalled that picture and decided that even if this wasn’t far enough outside of my comfort zone for magic to happen, I may just have a nice evening.  What’s the worst that could happen anyway?

I had a blast.

Howard Schepp Fine Art

I saw friends I hadn’t seen in a decade.  I was welcomed by everyone in the group and had delightful conversations. I saw wonderful works of art. I had a half glass of some red wine.  And I even ran into my friend, Chef Patti, who had given me work as a prep chef along with lodging a year ago when I was homeless.

The old line about six degrees of separation was very evident in this group.  People I met worked with people I’d worked with in the past.  People knew people with whom I currently work.  A woman in the group works with my oldest son.

“Early Light” by Terry Masters

And in one gallery, Howard Shepp Fine Art, I saw works of art by Terry Masters, Painter of Whatever.  Terry and I worked as a morning radio duo about 25 years ago.   (Click on this picture to see more of his art.)

For you social creatures, this probably sounds like a bunch of nonsense.  But to me, forcing myself to get out of my rut, and into a wonderful night with some terrific new friends was well rewarded as I did have a magical, enjoyable evening.

Plus, they invited me back!