I’ve fallen out of love with my work.

You know the de-cluttering mantra that says to rid yourself of anything that doesn’t give you joy? Well, my work, my paid work, might be on its way to Goodwill.

I never saw it coming.

Older friends tipped me off. We’d be hard charging arm in arm and, all of a sudden, they’d wander off and come back wearing forest ranger hats. What the heck? I’d think. What’s with the forest ranger hats? My friends would look at me, smile, and shrug. Oh, it was time for a new challenge, they’d say.

But don’t you care about all our hard-charging? There are so many problems to solve, a hundred studies to do, needs to assess, workshops to run, invoices to send, and checks to come in the mail. No, they’d answer. We don’t care about that anymore. It’s somebody else’s turn.

A few weeks ago, in a meeting with a client, the question came up about the future. Like when the doctor hits me on the ankle with the little rubber hammer, my answer was a reflex. What about next year, he asked, are you interested?

No! I want to be a writer. It surprised me how the answer just exploded out of my mouth.

I see that there is still plenty of wood left to chop but I don’t want to be the one to chop it. It’s somebody else’s turn for that.

It’s my turn for this.


Photo: Clem Onojeghuo