It’s rather a bleak day out there today. Not that we have snow in Tipperary though they’ve had it to the north, west and east of us. But the day has had that winter sleety feel that cows, horses, farmers and footballers must surely find heart-sinking when they open their early morning eyes.
I’ve nothing to complain about. I’ve had nothing forcing me out-of-doors today apart from a wheelie-bin that needed rolling down a long dark track to where Mr BinMan will pick it up in the early hours. You don’t know how much I love my bin. I had to survive months without a refuse collection and I still get warm and lustful when I see it standing outside and a sense of pride normally more usually felt by the owners of E-type Jags and heated swimming pools.
I even love my recycling sacks! Two huge ones per week for all my cardboard, tins and newspapers. Being fastidious about my rubbish, I did email Mr BinMan one day shortly after they dropped the supply of bags off to check exactly what I was allowed to put in and was disappointed not to receive a reply.
The next day I read in the paper a dead body had been found in a skip at the Mr BinMan recycling plant. Not that I’m suggesting this was the punishment meted out to the customer service clerk for poor customer service. I just expect a dead body took precedence over my query about tin foil and egg boxes.
The boy has a perfect attitude to the cold. He ordered breakfast in bed and that’s where he stayed today. He’s re-reading the thirteen Series of Unfortunate Events books in between mugs of hot chocolate, Mikado biscuits and a movie or two.
Tomorrow in what must actually be the most depressing day of the year, Miss Morgan, he and tens of thousands of other children in Ireland, not to mention the millions more around the world, must return to school.
As my old CEO used to say to whinging employees: "No-one said it would be easy, lad".
But tomorrow is the first real day back at their posts, not just for the school children but also for many workers. And for corporate slaves and others who can’t stand the work they do, right now – 6pm on what is for many of us, a bleak cold dark Sunday evening – their hearts must be in their boots.
And lest anyone detects a hint of smugness here, you misunderstand me. I hate to think of anyone trapped in a job they can’t stand.
Jobs, relationships, debt – there’s always a way out, however obscure or hidden our escape route. (Which of these would you like to escape this year? Perhaps I can help you.)
Though I love my work, coaching, writing, blog designing – to an unhealthy degree sometimes – self-employment is often a rocky road to travel. In exchange for doing what we love, it can feel like we have less financial security than the employed, even if their’s is at times a false sense of security.
Still, I’m blessed. I spend my life making money doing what I love and what I’m good at. And whatever your own circumstances, personal and career, financial and relationship-wise, you too are blessed compared to so many others around the world today.
Yes, it’s a bleak day in Tipperary. But at least I’m not a cow.