I wrote something yesterday in the notebook I use at work:
When you’re someplace new, you have to make yourself small.
When you are new, you are not a tree. You are a little seed.
It is hard for a tree to become a seed. But trees can make seeds. And we don’t have to begin anew. We are not just one tree.
I’m telling myself this because I think that one of the problems I had while working my first job out of college at Amazon Web Services was that I wanted to be too big too soon. I wanted to blossom as quickly as possible. But what I should have done is kept myself as small as possible and then slowly grown roots and stems as time allowed. But I forced things.
Now, it’s time to play a smaller rol[l/e].
Today, I put new strips of wide, blue, masking tape on several carts that each carried eighteen spools of cable. I wrote the lengths of each of the cables. No one told me to do this. It looks better now. I can’t really focus when the lables get messy, so I did it because I needed it. I hope it saves us all some time.
I haven’t had the time to do very much outside of work, which I finding very difficult. I have to remind myself that this is exactly what I was asking/hoping for—overtime and more money. But I guess I’ve never really had to give up so much for work. My days have been packed to the rim. I have some time to write. I snuck one gym session in this week. And I got to see a friend which was nice even though we were up way too late. Otherwise, I feel like I have lost so much time working from 5am to 3:30pm. I have wanted to go to Jiu Jitsu, but I haven’t found the energy. The most I managed to do was drive to the gym on Tuesday, step one foot in the door and then step back out so that I could keep the habit-and-ritual alive.
I can feel the need to cut things out. Something has to go—motorcycles, photography, writing, reading, gym, jiu jitsu.
I heard that people over estimate what they can accomplish in one year and underestimate what they can accomplish in ten. If I could only just focus on one thing for a few years.
What happens if I stop writing or doing photography for ten years? Can I pick it back up again? It hurts to think about doing something like that.