I wonder how many hours I’ve spent worrying.
For the past several weeks, I’ve been working with a creative coach, who calls me an “analytical powerhouse” (it’s not a compliment).
See, for every idea, I generally have a rebuttal. I love comedy, improv, the idea of the ‘yes, and…’ approach. But for a long time, I’ve been more of a, “but what if” or a “no, because…”
That’s an excellent approach to mitigating risk and assuring yourself of a very gradual rise on life’s trajectory, or worse – the status quo. That seems to me like a pretty boring existence.
That’s why I’m getting weird.
Yesterday, I spent the day filming as part of a commercial for a major shoe brand (I’ll save that secret for later).
Today, I started writing the screenplay for a short film. I blocked off each evening next week, and plan to rent a cabin for the last weekend in March to just write.
Tomorrow, I will go back to work. You probably will too. But that doesn’t mean I won’t still get weird.
There are 168 hours in a week. If you sleep 8 hours a night, you’re down to 112 hours. If you work 40, that still leaves you (and me) with 72 hours a week to be and do everything that makes you uniquely you.