Yes, the past six years I've spent as a full-time writer have been a dream come true but they've also taught me a whole lot about myself. I'm beyond grateful for every step of this journey.
I grew up in a family where everyone, as far back as anyone could remember, worked physical jobs. They had respectable and demanding jobs like welding, roofing, fixing cars, and coal mining. My family members, going back countless generations, worked hard and often long hours.
Promptness, giving more than was expected, and following orders to the letter were instilled in me and held in the highest esteem. My brother and I were taught at a very young age to listen, follow orders, exceed expectations (always), and to never (ever) be late to a shift or an appointment. We were also among the first in our family to have white collar office jobs. These traits all served both of us quite well as employees and in making a living.
Since I've strayed from my ancestral path into the world of writing full-time in 2017, and have done a fair amount of traveling, I've mingled with a lot of people of other socioeconomic backgrounds. My worldview has expanded and shifted greatly as a result.
As I've gotten to know how the other half lives I've learned there are differing degrees of freedom in this world. I've discovered the degree to which my class of people were educated from the very beginning to have an employee mindset. We are groomed by the public education systems to be rule-followers, working class, from our very first toddling steps.
While co-writing the scripts for a television series a few years ago with our team, many of which grew up with substantially more privilege than I did, my eyes began to gradually open to just how they were different from me. What I learned was people with privileged backgrounds didn't have less problems, just different ones. It was the problems they didn't suffer from that gave them such an advantage.
The problems of the higher economic classes I encountered often weren't rooted in financial worries or issues of their physical survival. These people had the freedom to focus on other things like higher education, travel, dreams and whims, making their money work for them (instead of vice versa), and prioritizing their goals and mental health. In many ways they had a head start in life. Their education and life experience prepared them for success and to be bosses, leaders of the kind of people who came from backgrounds like mine.
As hard as I tried to deny it, envy began to seep in through the cracks. I found myself wishing I possessed a little more of their social ease, their confidence, and definitely more of their mental and physical freedom. I was intoxicated by the thought that life could be actually be lived in this way. Things I viewed as problems to them were blasé, their existence more robust and Bohemian.
When I thought about the ways in which we were different, it really came down to just two things. Money and time. We didn’t view those two things in the same way at all.
I've always been fascinated with finance and investing but couldn't seem to shake certain anxieties surrounding money. For a majority of my life I constantly kept a running mental ledger of every dollar that came in and went out. I always felt a nagging tinge of guilt for buying something really nice for myself and anxiety about large purchases of any kind.
Money was more of an afterthought to them, a tool, and they were less risk-averse because of it. Most successful investors will tell you that being willing to take risk automatically gives you an advantage when it comes to building wealth. I had a fear buried somewhere deep down inside of me that there would come a day when there simply wouldn't be enough to make ends meet. I was measured, cautious. Not that I'm rich but I'm happy to say this fear has finally been conquered or at least doesn't scream quite so loudly.
Next was time. This one was more complex and it fascinated me.
Those who are raised with privilege, at least the ones I've crossed paths with, have a more relaxed relationship with our most precious of resources. Naps were a thing, as were "gap years" and month long treks through Europe to find themselves. Lingering around for hours in pjs in the morning was also perfectly acceptable.
Where I came from being an early bird was commendable and sleeping in was considered laziness. Schedules and routines were run with military precision. Self-worth was often measured in how much work you could get done and how expertly you could do it. Our family also was quite adept at jumping to our feet when the world knocked us down.
As a child, I rarely saw my father relax, even on weekends or vacations. Even when he was away from his job thoughts about it, and God knows what else, ate away at him. His legs rocked when he was seated and oftentimes he'd be puttering around in the garage or in the basement if he didn't have any real chores to do. He was always busy, tinkering.
I inherited some of my dad’s traits which, I believe, derives in part from the generational trauma of walking the tightrope of life without a safety net. To this day no matter how late I get to bed or how little I have to accomplish in a given day my eyes automatically pop open at around 7am. Before leaving my day job it was usually 5:15am, it took me months to get comfortable with 7 (ish).
Most of these anxieties surrounding time I thought I had conquered. That is until the time changed a few days ago. I posted this single sentence on Fa(r)cebook about the daylight-savings time change.
In my mind I was just being funny. That was until a friend responded with four words that woke me up instantaneously.
He responded to that post with...
I replied with...
For some reason, unbeknownst to me, his comment stung like a slap in the face. Then I really started to think about it. As they say, many a truth is spoken in jest and I started to realize a deep truth about myself. Yes, there are differing degrees of freedom. Despite six full years of being my own boss I still wasn't free, at least not as free as I yearn to be. My relationship with time was still not balanced or healthy. In the coming months I intend to work on this.
This was a stark reminder that the bars of my mental prison cell haven't fully dissolved. Life itself can be our guru, if we let it be. Each circumstance, every person we encounter, each thought and interaction can teach us if we're conscious enough to see the lessons. What an incredible universe this is and how wonderful that we live in an age where we can take full advantage of its teachings. Even after all these years I'm not there yet. But you had damn well better bet that I'm going to keep trying.
~Eric Vance Walton~
Thanks for reading! All for now. Remember…trust your instincts, invest in you, live boldly, and take chances.
(Gif sourced from Giphy.com.)
Poetry should move us, it should change us, it should glitch our brains, shift our moods to another frequency. Poetry should evoke feelings of melancholy, whimsy, it should remind us what it feels like to be in love, or cause us to think about something in a completely different way. I view poetry, and all art really, as a temporary and fragile bridge between our world and a more pure and refined one. This is a world we could bring into creation if enough of us believed in it. This book is ephemera, destined to end up forgotten, lingering on some dusty shelf or tucked away in a dark attic. Yet the words, they will live on in memory. I hope these words become a part of you, bubble up into your memory when you least expect them to and make you feel a little more alive.
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