October 11, 2024
“Oh, I’ve been in the zone,” explained my colleague.
This was good news. I hadn’t heard from her all day, which was a little unnerving because we are constantly back-and-forth on Slack, trying to replicate what in-person office interactions are in our remote work setups. She’s also one of those gems of a human being who can work tirelessly, faithfully for her colleagues—extremely loyal—to her own detriment. I was also glad to hear a dog barking in the background and discover she had given herself permission to get away from her desk.
We need to advocate for ourselves.
As we talked it became clear to me that her phrase “in the zone” corresponds to what I’ve learned as “deep work.” It’s uninterrupted work, a stretch of time that allows you to descend into layers of thought and complexity that interactions with others doesn’t allow. Close your email, your social media tabs, and whatever else gives a person the opportunity to yank you from your focus. Deep work—it’s for all of us who aren’t good at multitasking.
No human is good at multi-tasking according to the research.
And this is where I’m ending my week, which makes me smile. Often, I don’t get to address my love for deep writing work until Saturday afternoon when I realize that another week has passed, and I’ve not spent the time writing about the things I find existentially vital. Realizing that I’ve written 20,000 words for my clients without so much as a dotted “i” or a crossed “t” of my own to show stirs my anger. Am I going to let my life pass without investing in me? Few thoughts overwhelm me more quickly.
For the second half of life to pass meaningfully, I must create space for writing. Writing is thinking. Writing is where I do the soul’s work, my Father’s work. And I’m sensing its weight.
I turned 46 three weeks ago. What’s not going to happen is for me to get to 92 and realize that I have taken the privilege and potential that Source has invested in me and hid it in the hole of making a living, vegging out, and avoiding the questions that have been given to me to wrestle. Life’s too damn short. I will hear at the end of my life, “Well done, my good and faithful servant. You’ve managed my investment in you superbly.”
And here’s what it’s going to take.
A willingness to prioritize it.
Unwavering focus.
Constant redirection.
Self-compassion.
Tenacity.
No one else will prioritize my gift, focus on my gift, etc. for me. This investment is mine to attend to. It’s up to me. I’m grateful to be closing out the work week with this moment, noticing that I have held onto my gift with the tenacity of spirit that sees where I am and knows where I’m going.
Fit via vi.
