Friday, January 29, 2010

Introducing "No Fly Zone Fridays"

So I decided that the one thing about self-employment that messes you up (besides health insurance expenses) is the blow to balance. In some ways, self-employment enhances balance. But the cancer is the constant "working without a net" feeling. You become obsessed with working, because if you're not working, you're not making money. And if you're not making money, you're not paying the bills. And if you're not paying your bills, your son can't go to college. And then everybody dies.

The irony of being self-employed in a creative industry is that the more you work, the less space you have to do the things that helped you be creative in the first place. Things like going to a movie. Staring at art for a few hours. Walking. Reading the newspaper. Playing guitar. And blogging (which is really just the process of writing self-absorbed personal essays, but with a much better distribution method).

So a waking thought came to me in December (pay attention to the first thought you have when you wake up in the morning, it's the best one you'll have all day): No Fly Zone Fridays. The last Friday of every month is a No Fly Zone. No work. No family (for eight hours, at least). No real responsibilities. Just the space for solitary inspiration.

Today is Jan. 29, and I'm coming to the end of my first NFZF. What did I do? I went to my neighborhood Dunn Bros. I got a 12-ounce cappuccino. I read a decent chunk of the New York Times (print version). I walked over to Great Clips for a haircut. I grabbed a burrito bowl at Chipotle. I went to see Avatar in 3D at the Rosedale AMC IMAX. I stopped at Cheapo and bought two old Kinks albums. Now I'm at Kopplin's Coffee on Randolph and Hamline, and I have more than two hours to do nothing but write.

It's heaven. I'll start with my review of Avatar.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Brilliant idea. Perhaps this is the self-employed version of a sabbatical? Giving yourself time to think about something other than the next task.

Love it,
beeslippers