What I fear nearly never feels as bad as the anxiety that precedes its arrival.
But sometimes, it does. Or so I believe today. Here I speak of my return to a full-time 9-5 post.
When I was working part-time this winter and was anticipating this shift in schedule, I worried that, when spending my waking hours checking off someone else’s to-do’s, I would lose touch with first the daily practices that in sum spell my wellness, and eventually with my broader dreams. To become unacquainted with wellness and dreams is to lose sight of the signposts of identity. To be rent from identity is to feel painfully adrift, and to feel adrift means, for me, too often reaching out for what’s unhealthy, in a short-sighted attempt to feel rooted or filled. A weak sense of context, paired with the myriad wastes of destructive habits, can lead slowly or quickly to breakdown. This knowledge (be it self-fulfilling or absolute) is at the core of my anxiety about working full-time for someone else. I of course need to remember that all “I” is in a sense invention–that it’s possible to unyoke myself from the the trappings of thought and so exist in the expansive blue of no-mind. (Ha! For all of 30 seconds.) In this boundless place, the knife-sharp discrepancy between ideality and reality can dissipate.
Read more here: Going to Work: On Giving In | Predawn Picnic.