Nose on the Grindstone

Daddy worked like a mule mining Pike County coal
He fucked up his back and couldn't work anymore
He said "One of these days you'll get out of these hills
Keep your nose on the grindstone and out of the pills."

                        -Tyler Childers

Boxer was the workhorse in George Orwell's Animal Farm. His answer to every problem, every setback, was `I will work harder!' which he had adopted as his personal motto.  He labored his entire life for his cause like no other animal on the farm, only to collapse in exhaustion and be ultimately sold to a slaughterhouse, so the ruling pigs could buy themselves a case of whiskey.

I will work harder, for myself and my loved ones- not for some pointless politician's pointless vision.

I clawed my back from unemployment, loss, and alcoholic oblivion, and found not one but THREE E.R. jobs I love. I work my ass off at all of them, taking on far more hours than any emergency physician should, well beyond  the official recommendations of the American Board of Emergency Medicine. Complete immersion of my specialty was my M.O. these the last three years' running. Far from feeling even a hint of burnout, I feel exaltation in the work; a sensation which completely eluded me during my drinking years, but now electrifies me. Maybe it was the love I lost for 18 months, which I miraculously won back, and I now choose to celebrate with gratitude and humility. Perhaps I am burying myself in something I am truly exceptional at in order to sidestep some the pain of having no family life. Maybe I just love making gobs of cash. My suspicion is that the truth probably lies somewhere in between all three explanations. I also realize there is no point in overanalyzing  it. It is what it is. I relish each day (or night) I work a shift, and that is all that matters.

I also recognize the recipients of the fruits of my efforts. 1/3 goes to Uncle Sam; 1/3 goes "back home" (ex-home); one third I get to keep. That last portion subdivided further into living expenses, savings, and spending money. And that's OK; the harder and more I work, the bigger the pie. These days, I'm thrilled to have a big pie. I have the skills. I have the drive. I have the energy.

Job satisfaction, distraction, income...that is likely the trifecta of what my career ambitions boil down to these days. I not only accept this, but enjoy it very much.....because four years ago I was living in a halfway house and visiting food pantries to feed myself. Now, I am putting my kids through college and buying my girlfriend jewelry by performing in a job I love, gifted back to me by my friendly neighborhood Higher Power.

I must work harder, Boxer would mutter. Well, me too. Not for the ruling pigs (well, at least 2/3 of the time) but for the noblest of noble causes- the security and well-being of myself, and  therefore my peeps.

I must work harder in my job to fortify my future and that of my children.

I must work harder in my workouts to fortify my body.

I must work harder in my relationships to fortify my love.

I must work harder in my program to fortify my recovery.

I. Must. Work. Harder.








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