Fuck feeling like you’re pedaling an unchained, broken geared, badly oiled bike.
Fuck fighting for your tiny, insignificant little space in the world.
Fuck listening to dickheads who tell you ‘it’ll never work, that’s not how it’s done.’
Fuck arguing with your kids, spouse, boss.
Take control. Get some fucking order in your life.
Work starts and end here.
In the Shed.
I often wonder if ‘working from home’ is just an excuse to ‘leave it’ and when left it drags on your house hat threads. Snagging the conversations you have with your children, your loved ones. Chipping away at your attention span, demanding more of you than you have to give.
It’s there. On your kitchen table, judging that five minutes you sit staring at your phone looking for some justification to your stress, frustration, defeatist.
It’s there as you rush through the bedtime routine and ignore the never fucking ending laundry Mount Teide.
Working from home isn’t working from home, it’s being tortured by your ‘never enough’ acceptance to life. Dripping into your mind – demanding more than you have to give.
The Shed kens.
The Shed doesn’t need you, it’s there when you need it but it’s quite happy, just sitting there… Without you when you don’t.
The Shed is approximately a 22 second walk from your back door. That’s just enough time to inhale and exhale twice before you reach the Shed door.
2 breathes is all it takes to recalibrate your body and mind.
2 breathes is all it takes to switch your mental desires from stressed, frustrated and defeated to motivated, productive and winning.
(If I were you – I’d have the hottest fucking coffee in the world, in a massive mug just for that cool crisp Scottish morning 22 second commute.)
Once inside, things just change.
You don’t hate your offspring, you’re not going to sell them to the circus – even if No2 child would actually prefer it.
You appreciate the time you’ve etched out, you’re going to do something with it. You’re going to create, finalise – COMPLETE something.
It’s a whole different world of thinking and for once, you’re grateful. Let the bitterness of underachieving, aging and regret fall off you. This is your time now.
An hour, 2, 4 even a day. Do it. Be present and when you’re finished.
Close the fucking door.
Empty coffee cup in hand – wet grass in your toes, and an overwhelming need for a cosy cuddle. It’s been a day of work, achievement and moving forward.
Get through that back door – pause for second. Listen to the chaos. Drink it all in and be content.
Work ends here.