What’re You Willing to Do?

by Crys Williams on 2009.12.24

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On December 8, 9:30am in the Maryland suburbs,

I was sitting on my unmade bed in my pajamas, typing away on my laptop, unshowered with morning breath (a lovely picture, I know). Then my phone chirped a reminder about a lunch date in Baltimore with My Dude in two hours. Plenty of time to get clean, get dressed, and drive up there.

I checked the roads on Google and the weather at Weather.com. The traffic was heavy, but not impassable, and the day was grim, but not forbidding. But it was just enough friction that I texted My Dude to cancel. And because he’s always digging his way through a mountain of work, he was cool with that.

But I wasn’t cool with that. I’m still not. I used to drop everything to lunch with him twice a month, yet I hadn’t seen him since his wedding in September. Time with him used to be something to plan, anticipate, and fight for. Like, I once drove into a snowstorm to break naan with him. Yet now I’m not willing to brush my teeth and brave a grey drizzle? And he’s buying?

C’monnn…

On December 15, 5:45am at Baltimore’s BWI Airport,

I was sitting in a somewhat comfortable chair at one of Southwest’s A gates. It was friggin’ freezing where I was sitting and it was even colder where I was going: Downtown Chicago.

To be at the airport at 5:45am, I’d woke up leapt from the bed at 4:25 before any of my five alarms went off (that’s my iPhone clock and calendar, my husband’s PDA and his cell phone, plus the bedside clock). I was worried I’d oversleep, so I’d been practicing the o’dark-thirty rise-and-shine  for a few days. It paid off! Huzzah!

You might be wondering what could be so unmissable that I’d go way overboard on the clocks and rehearse waking up. What could be so important that I, who wouldn’t drive 35 minutes to B’more in a drizzle, would be eager to fly to Chicago? In December?

Were there Lotto winnings that I had to sign for in person? Did I have a free pass to splash in the Fountain of Wisdom & Youth…that’s open for this one day only in Chicago, from 10:00am to 10:05am?

Nope. Something much, much niftier: Coffee with Reese.

In Chicago,

It was colder than any witch’s tit and my nose wouldn’t stop running. The (in)famous Chi-town wind worked my nerves and my fingers felt like they’d be cold foreverandever. And I didn’t have cash for an overnight stay, so I’d be there for just 10 hours—two of those hours spent in transit to/from the airport to downtown, with two more hours spent waiting for my departure flight.

And I really, really, really didn’t give a damn.

Because in Chicago I got to sit at a real life table and gab with a real life Reese…instead of sitting at my laptop, Google chatting with a virtual one. I got to laugh with and at her. And at myself. We got to be embarrassingly loud and make the oh-so-urbanchic chicks at the next table sneak snide, surreptitious glances at us every five minutes. We piled up ideas, then finessed and massaged a few, threw away a few, and saved some for later. We each had an epiphany (or two) and chattered ourselves into our separate, thoughtful silences. Like always.

Bliss!

A recap: For coffee with Reese, I:

  • Purchased a plane ticket,
  • Wrenched my body clock around,
  • Drove to Baltimore (barren and dark, both ways),
  • Wrestled with airport parking (I won, kinda),
  • Flew into Chicago on the first flight (which I slept through), and
  • Flew out of Chicago on the last flight (which I also slept through).

And it was totally worth it. All of it. It was worth not waiting until March to meet at SXSW. It was even worth being really fucking cold. Which I hate. In case you couldn’t tell.

Because it was something I wanted, and I’d do it all again tomorrow. Willingly.

Alllll that friction, but I may as well have bathed in butter. I just slid right on through like it was nothin’ at all.

The funny thing is…

There was someone who lives in the Chicago suburbs that I’d hoped to meetup with. But they didn’t want to deal with the traffic into the city. Or the weather. So we didn’t.

Remind you of anyone? It reminded me of me.

And when I read her tweet, I thought, “Now doesn’t that sound familiar? And how does it feel to not be worth the trip?”

Another funny thing is…

Reese doesn’t live in Chicago. It was just a fun place she picked. She drove who-knows-how-many-miles from who-knows-where in the Midwest to meet me there.

Which, based on how far my Chicago ‘burbette wasn’t willing to drive, made our coffee even more of a treat.

So.

When you think about breaking out into your business, or stretching out with your existing one, take a mo’ to consider what you’re willing to do. And what you’re not.

If you’re not willing to work at 4:30am to get a few hours in before going to your day job, or work until 2:30am to get a few hours in after your kids have gone to bed, that’s okay.

If you’re willing to drop everything you’re doing to invest all the time you have to make it happen right damned now, that’s okay, too.

If you’re not willing to invest a day (or two) of lunch money to secure a domain name and pay for website hosting, that’s okay.

If you’re willing to risk your savings, nest egg, mortgage, or retirement to build your Thang, I think it’s nuts and maybe unnecessary, but it’s still okay.

It is what it is.

And what you’re willing to do directly reflects how badly you want what you want.

It’s your Thang

And doin’ what you wanna do isn’t about what I, or anyone else, thinks you should be willing to do. It’s not even about what you think you should be willing to do. And, based on recent experience, I don’t believe it’s even about what you used to be willing to do.

Doing your Thang is about what you’re willing to do today. And what you’ll be willing to do tomorrow. And the days after that.

Because on the way to your glorious Thang, there will be days made entirely of suck wrapped in friction. And, like Seth said, the farther you go with your Thang, the more you’ll have to lose. Troublesome thoughts, but they’re true.

And when it’s your Thang, it will be absolutely, totally, undeniably worth it.

Bathe in butter. Get it done.

·

Crystal

Photo credit: Robert S. Donovan

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