I write this from the Copeland Restaurant and Bar in, of all places, New Jursey. I've just polished off a Man vs Food portion of Kobe Beef sandwiched between two toasted brioche buns. It is one of my favourite fares and something that the United States of America has perfected along with ice cream and potholes. In fact I did see a particularly attractive looking crater with a (w)hole family of missing asphalt on the drive down. A reason for another car no less. The hotel isn't bad, I usually end up in the Renaissance Marriot somewhere in Whippany but as I kinda winged it on my way down, the GPS said go to the Westin. What it didn't tell me was that despite the lovely surroundings, easy access and super grub, the room would be lacking in the floor space to practice my perfect pushups, so toes on bed I wedge myself between the upturned chair and the lamp, facing the television at a rather obscure angle. I can't say I am too focused though, failing to completely subscribe to the Joe Bartell effort of a work out every advert - the reason why, also being the reason for my post - Americans, and I include myself as one of their surrogates for the purposed of this post - work too many hours and are generally ineffective with their time.
Take this week for instance, it is expected, through no fault of my own, for me to reach all my objectives, whatever the cost. The trouble is that for that objective to be fulfilled, the cost is arriving back from the West Coast midday on a Saturday and leaving again midday on Sunday, racking up my salaried 40 hours before I have even reached Tuesday morning. If I was some hyper paid surgeon or Porsche shifting banker perhaps it would be fathomable, but I'm not, I'm just another Joe on a salary that when calculated as an hourly rate makes me wonder why. Don't take this as a grumble, we each make and lie in our own beds, but more as an observation on how the average American worker is a slave the day they begin to pay tax, not to the IRS, but to the buggers who always demand more for their buck. When was the last time anyone ever said, you know what, i think you work too hard, cut back on your hours.
This leads me to a day of reckoning, sometime around 11am Wednesday I suspect. My boss is going to be sitting in on a delivery to a client. It's the first, and I won't be surprised if the last, time that anyone from my company has come to see me with a client (the irony of rewarding performance). Now, I wouldn't mind one bit if there was some big build up, a period of preparation before the inquisition commences and the scrutiny falls but in the case above, I'll have grabbed another couple of hours of sleep, probably in some lay-by at the side of I-84, before plugging my 12v travel iron into the cigarette outlet of my car and attempting to make myself presentable before attempting to deliver a 9 hour non-stop oratory masterpiece on the virtues of Innovation and the software platform hoping to deliver on a salespersons promise, all before 15 accomplished pharma scientists and my aforementioned boss. The thing is, I'm not even bothered about it. I know I'll do a good job, my clients enjoy me. I make them successful, but, it reminds me of my Oxbridge finals, everything being pinned on one day, one delivery. I expect a tirade and I'm prepared for a pink slip....which as Corinne and I have discussed, probably wouldn't be a bad thing - a world tour would be rather pleasant at the moment.....though perhaps not the loop she needs to be thrown through ;-) eh darling.
Anyway, this brings my onto the topic of my post, being good to yourself. As an observer of American Culture we spend money hard, likely as a result of flogging ourselves half to death to get it in the first place. We think that whimsical but frantic vacation, the dinner, the trip out and away to be a "feel good", but in reality it's a respite, it breaks up the day, the week, the year. it gives us something else to talk about with friends, but nothing to feel great about ourselves. It makes us feel good, without ever allowing us to feel fulfilled. It has been a while since I felt fulfilled, gazing into Corinne's eyes on our wedding day is the last clear episode though I don't doubt there have been a few more since, but the point is there have been few - Frankie and Bil's aside.
So, here's to realising that I've joined the rodent race I assured myself I wouldn't, losing sight of the things that are important to me to oblige the things that are not. The future is bright, the future is ours and I for one will be making myself feel better, my bed will be comfortable, challenging and fulfilling. What are you going to do to make yourself feel good?
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