Yesterday I started reading Timothy Ferriss’ The 4-Hour Workweek. Although I’ve barely cracked the spine, he said something that really got me thinking.
He compared two people: one making $100,000 per year working 80 hours per week vs. one making $50,000 per year but only working ten hours per week. He pointed out it’s not about how much money you can amass. It’s having enough money and time to do what you want.
It’s true. I didn’t start a business just to earn lots of money. Sure that was part of the equation, but not the entire picture. Not even close. I resented not being able to go on my son’s class trips. I hated leaving him in daycare after school. I hated being tied to 9 to 5 plus evenings and weekends. I hated being tied to someone else’s schedule.
Today I’m there to greet my son when he gets home from school. Sure there are days that I go back to my home office and do another hour or so of work before supper. But I can greet him, get him a snack and ask how his day went. I go to Pilates class Wednesday mornings. Yes I work evenings and weekends, but it’s based on my schedule, not someone else’s. Although truth be told, I’m more likely to be working at 5 am than 8 pm. Turns out I’m a morning person.
But in spite of my embracing this flexible schedule I’ve realized that I’m still working with a 9 to 5 mentality. Even on days when I work 4 am to noon (that’s an eight-hour work day. Do the math) I feel guilty if I take the afternoon off to read a trashy novel. And if I work less than eight hours in a particular day, I worry about my work ethic – even if I completed all my major tasks for the day.
I’m still straddling two worlds: the old nine to five worker bee and the new millennium technology-based entrepreneur. I grew up in a time when you went to school, got a degree that guaranteed a well-paying professional job that you kept until retirement. I’ve accepted that a degree doesn’t really mean much these days. And not only do I know few people stay to collect that gold watch after 40 years, I wouldn’t want to.
But old habits die hard.
However, now that I’m aware of my personal foibles, maybe I can start shedding the old way of thinking. Next time I take an afternoon to smell the roses I’ll remind myself it’s part of my overall plan. Will the guilt still be there? Probably – at least for the foreseeable future. However, I’m confident I can break myself of this habit, eventually.
Andrea J. Stenberg
