Some Things in Life Just Don’t Work…

You know what I really like about being unemployed?

Not fucking working.

It rocks.

Let me clarify a few things so you don’t judge me like I’m some dreg on society collecting government cheques – as if I give a fuck about being judged at this point, haha.

I’ve busted my ass over the years. I’ve done some of the most menial jobs imaginable, and I’ve also created a satisfying business of my own that sustained me for a decade and a half. I’ve played the game that society taught me to play, and I eventually learned how to earn plastic dollars in a manner that suited my lifestyle.

When I decided to give everything up to fuck off on a tropical quest with no intention of ever returning to Canada, several doors opened to me. The most important one I walked through made me aware that a safe and comfortable routine is unnecessary for financial security. Opportunities always arise if you need to pad your bank account to buy trinkets you think will enhance your life.

I’ve committed to menial jobs since the freedom endeavour began, but only because they served my purpose. People always seem shocked if I tell them I live somewhere for free, or eat for free, because they have no concept of how to engineer those parameters into their own lives.

Right now I’m homeless, but I’m not living in a cardboard box under a highway overpass. I stay warm and sheltered not because I beg family or friends to sleep on their couches, but because I always have a skill or worthwhile compensation to foster a willing invitation into their lives. The only begging that happens is when they urge me not to leave.

I’ll never have an apartment or house again – not in any traditional sense. If you consider living in a marina on a sailboat as a rental agreement, okay, maybe you’ve got me on that one. But that scenario only exists while I renovate the boat for ocean travel. If you consider a boat a floating house, with all the maintenance and upkeep equivalent to owning a land structure, you would be correct. But I can walk away from my boat in a heartbeat if my passion for the water disintegrates, and never look back. Big fucking deal.

I’ve saved up a few bucks over the years, and you know what I realize? The dollars exist to spend them – not hoard and amass until turning a ripe age where they could never possibly be enjoyed as appreciatively as having a body full of strength and dexterity to roam the streets doing whatever the fuck might be tickling a random fancy. The time to live is now. Being 65 years old with a government pension is not a goal I have any interest in.

I started writing this post because I needed a break from another writing project I just spent 10 hours working on. I have to laugh of course, because taking a break from writing to write doesn’t make a lick of sense. But it makes me realize that if I’m engaged in something I love doing, I may as well keep doing it.

On my real breaks, I feed cats and take care of the elderly, and I thoroughly enjoy it. I earn my keep no matter where my vagrant ass finds me.

Life is about enjoying your day and going to bed satisfied that you made progress on the things you find meaningful. Maybe you don’t always achieve your goals of finishing this, that, or the other thing, but never fall asleep with a guilty insecurity about not hitting a self-imposed finish line. Work on what you love, and love what you’re working on.

Or never work again.

Like I’m doing.

It’ll all work out in the end.

Insert stupid smiley face here.

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