I ate my wife’s dinner last night. . .
I honesty thought it was my calzone.
The crust was perfectly crisped. The toppings and cheese inside were delicious, so much so that I let out out multiple audible comments expressing how much I was enjoying the food.
How I didn’t realize the different flavors I was tasting from the other half I ate two evenings prior is beyond me.
I scarfed that calzone so fast that I was down to just the knots of dough of the crust as my wife was taking her first bite. Too spicy.
She immediately realized my error as she bit into it. The jalapeños, mushrooms, and pineapples I had ordered were all flavors she’d never order for herself.
I ate the rest of that half as well as she sadly had no dinner. . .
Earlier that day I reconvened with my boss after the weeks off I had for the holidays.
I hadn’t heard much from him over the three week period. I didn’t know it, but he was frustrated with me.
Our day kicked off with him showing me cell phone photos of the many mistakes I had made during my shifts leading up to Christmas. I cost the company countless hours as he had to double back over the sloppy errors I made.
We were almost on the hook for a customer’s Tesla charger that I blew up as well and I could have harmed the car too. Luckily for me I didn’t.
My boss told me I needed to fix my focus and my quality of work immediately. Or else I need to accept that my current career isn’t for me. . .
I’ve had similar issues with my writing recently as well. I’ve known it for some time. . .
I find myself rushing to publish work that is good, but could be polished and made much better, possibly even great, with just a bit more time and effort invested. Instead I create imaginary deadlines and miss minor–and sometimes major–details that are right in front of my face.
Basically I lack presence and I walk away from work that isn’t complete.
As opposed to the curious cases of the calzone and car charger, I recognize these failures while writing. Yet I still send work off into the world that’s not honed to the point that I’ll love it when I look back upon it later.
Are my failures fatal? Definitely not.
Are they serious? Damn right they are.
I better become more present and focused as I move forward. Not just with my writing, but also at my job, while I’m at home with family, and frankly, always.
There are no deadlines other than those which I impose on myself. There is no hurry other than the rush I manufacture in my own psyche.
I never want to eat my wife’s food again. And I don’t want to produce subpar work anywhere else either.