My blog reader has been filled with posts about bountiful harvests and the goodies that are created from them. Rows of jars in jewel tones have turned me green with envy. I had to get involved, so I baked an apple and blackberry crumble this afternoon. The apples were from my parents’ tree, and the blackberries were picked just around the corner. It makes me feel accomplished to have made something using free ingredients. Simplicity has always appealed to me, as has a self-sufficient lifestyle.
In tune with this, I have been thinking about jobs this week. I’ve been ploughing through my final weeks at Cath Kidston and I’m about to start a long stretch of working days. I started to think that I would hope never to return to the constraints of a “proper” job. My life would not be divided into “at work” or “day off”. I wouldn’t be waiting on the next payday. I wouldn’t have to squeeze in seeing my family when the omniscient Rota allows it. It’s not that I don’t want to work, far from it. I just wish to work in a different environment that grants me more freedom.
However, money needs to be made so I can sleep, eat and live well. I will not have a student loan for much longer. But it struck me this week that being a writer is, in a sense, being self-sufficient. A new method for a self-sustaining existence. You have to rely on your own motivation to consistently sit down to write. You are responsible for nurturing the seeds of ideas so that they blossom and become valuable. Much like traditional self-sufficiency, the fate of your life lies on your own back. I like that. I like the notion of putting your own hard work to reap the rewards.
I wish to earn enough to fund a simple, comfortable lifestyle. I am not seeking a huge fortune. But I do wish to earn some money by committing myself to my calling in life. I am under no illusion that this will be easy. But to be free from the rules and restrictions of a 9 to 5 job sounds like a life worth living.