Eight Hours a Day

When I was in college, I heard a motivational speaker say to put time limits on things that stressed you and they would seem less daunting. So anytime I was stressed out about a test or an interview or whatever it was, I’d simply tell myself that in 24 hours, it would all be over. And I quickly learned that I could live with these things when I knew they had a finite amount of time. I can do anything for X amount of hours, right?

As an adult out in the working world, this also became my daily mantra as I schlepped my way to a job that I hated every single morning. I told myself that in eight hours, it would all be over; you can do anything for eight short hours. And to be honest this advice has become the absolute best, most polarizing self help tool that I’ve ever used. I think that’s because it’s really about perspective.

Today I’m going into work at my brand new job, a return to bartending that I swore I’d never do again. Life has a funny way of humbling me in these sort of instances. So I’m back slanging drinks, taking food orders, and doing the minimum wage thing, this time at the age of 40. On the one hand, it’s really fucking depressing: I’m starting all over doing the thing I hated the most. Talk about menial jobs. But on the other hand I feel very lucky that I found a job so quick, it’s versatile, requires little effort, and has an immediate payout financially.

So instead of sitting around crying about how I got here (and believe me, I’ve cried plenty), I’m going to shut the fuck and do this for as long as it takes to get back on my feet and get us back out on the road. Because I can do anything for eight hours a day.