Friday, August 8, 2025
The pressure is on. But I wonder, upon whom is this pressure put and by whom? By whom, with whom, and in whom, in the unity of the spirit, to whom do we owe the honor of pressure?
For years I felt pressure. If I finished at the university “early,” I felt the pressure of guilt for ducking out at 2p.m. on a Friday. Or for not coming in until my first class on Monday, which wasn’t until 1p.m. I “have to” be productive, be eager, and be in the office early. Successful people work hard, says the guilty one. I “have to” earn my pay, says the snitch who sees you leaving early. I “have to” be doing something, says the watcher. Nobody gets off Scott free, says the motivational speaker.
You only live once, so you better make the most of it. What’s making the least of it? Being guilty all the time? Is that the least of it, and then making yourself feel guilty for being guilty? Who says I have to do anything at all?
I know one thing. If I am ever on my deathbed, I won’t die with a regret. I will not die with the feeling that I should have been “more productive.” I won’t die with a feeling I “have to.” I’ll just die. And I’ll just live.
I don’t regret, I just live. That’s because I know it’s fine. It’s fine to go home at 2. It’s fine to come in at 11. It’s fine to do nothing, or to burn your ass working, or to be broke. It’s fine to put pressure on or to take it off. It’s fine not to give a damn, and it’s fine to die, working or being lazy.
You know what’s not fine? Nothing. Nothing could be finer.