Ask yourself this morning: Would I do this for free? - by Craig Wilson - USA Today
A story out of Berlin, NH caught my eye the other day. It seems the town librarian, Yvonne Thormas, decided the retire and volunteer rather than cut the public library's book budget by 8%.
So Thornas, who has worked at the library for 28 years, retired one day and returned as a volunteer the next.
She was quoted in The Manchester Union Leader as saying, "If there's no money for books, this becomes a bad museum."
I don't know Yvonne Thomas, but I'd like to buy her a drink. Or a book. Both, if she wants.
Would I volunteer to write this column for free if the publisher said he couldn't pay me any longer because of budget cuts? Well, I do like to eat. And I do have a weakness for nice hotels. But, you know, I would.
Thomas and I are among the blessed who actually like what we do for a living. Enough so that we'd do it for free.
Years ago, I'd go to the office Christmas party, and a colleague's husband would always corner me.
"You know, Craig, I don't have 12 more years before I retire," he'd say. And then it would be 11 years, and then 10. He was counting down the months from a decade out. The annual conversation was a bit of a downer for me, so I began avoiding him, something I feel a little bad about now because he finally retired, then promptly died.
I always wanted to tell him to quit, move to Northern California and grow grapes or marijuana or whatever it was that made him happy. Easier said than done, of course. Live has a way of painting us all into our little corners.
Whenever I'm walking the dog in the morning, watching people head off to work, I wonder if where they're going is here they want to be. Would they be on the way to the subway or the freeway if they weren't getting paid?
Would you work just for the love of what you do? What would you be willing to do for free? Open a bookshop in Boulder? A coffeehouse in Santa Fe?
I'd crew on a sailboat for a year as it made its way around the world. I'd do that in a second. No questions asked. Wouldn't even ask for food money.
And I've always wanted to run a little inn in the Berkshires. A place where I'd meet my guests out on the porch in the summer and chat with them around the fireplace in the winter. I'd do that for free, too, which is probably good since I suspect little inns in the Berkshires are more a labor of love than a moneymaking proposition.
But that's OK. It's called passion, not profit, and it's something sorely lacking in today's society.
I was talking to a recently minted University of Michigan grad the other day. He didn't know what he was going to do, although he thought he'd go to New York and work at a big investment house. How long had he been interested in high finance? I asked.
"I'm not," he replied. "I just want to make tons of money."
I think there's a librarian up in New Hampshire he needs to meet.
I read this story in USA Today several years ago. It hit me enough that I cut it out and saved it. I honestly can say that I'm doing what I love, wouldn't want to do anything else, and I'd do it for free without question.
Find your zen, whatever makes you happy. Life is just too short to do otherwise.
Grasshopper
A story out of Berlin, NH caught my eye the other day. It seems the town librarian, Yvonne Thormas, decided the retire and volunteer rather than cut the public library's book budget by 8%.
So Thornas, who has worked at the library for 28 years, retired one day and returned as a volunteer the next.
She was quoted in The Manchester Union Leader as saying, "If there's no money for books, this becomes a bad museum."
I don't know Yvonne Thomas, but I'd like to buy her a drink. Or a book. Both, if she wants.
Would I volunteer to write this column for free if the publisher said he couldn't pay me any longer because of budget cuts? Well, I do like to eat. And I do have a weakness for nice hotels. But, you know, I would.
Thomas and I are among the blessed who actually like what we do for a living. Enough so that we'd do it for free.
Years ago, I'd go to the office Christmas party, and a colleague's husband would always corner me.
"You know, Craig, I don't have 12 more years before I retire," he'd say. And then it would be 11 years, and then 10. He was counting down the months from a decade out. The annual conversation was a bit of a downer for me, so I began avoiding him, something I feel a little bad about now because he finally retired, then promptly died.
I always wanted to tell him to quit, move to Northern California and grow grapes or marijuana or whatever it was that made him happy. Easier said than done, of course. Live has a way of painting us all into our little corners.
Whenever I'm walking the dog in the morning, watching people head off to work, I wonder if where they're going is here they want to be. Would they be on the way to the subway or the freeway if they weren't getting paid?
Would you work just for the love of what you do? What would you be willing to do for free? Open a bookshop in Boulder? A coffeehouse in Santa Fe?
I'd crew on a sailboat for a year as it made its way around the world. I'd do that in a second. No questions asked. Wouldn't even ask for food money.
And I've always wanted to run a little inn in the Berkshires. A place where I'd meet my guests out on the porch in the summer and chat with them around the fireplace in the winter. I'd do that for free, too, which is probably good since I suspect little inns in the Berkshires are more a labor of love than a moneymaking proposition.
But that's OK. It's called passion, not profit, and it's something sorely lacking in today's society.
I was talking to a recently minted University of Michigan grad the other day. He didn't know what he was going to do, although he thought he'd go to New York and work at a big investment house. How long had he been interested in high finance? I asked.
"I'm not," he replied. "I just want to make tons of money."
I think there's a librarian up in New Hampshire he needs to meet.
I read this story in USA Today several years ago. It hit me enough that I cut it out and saved it. I honestly can say that I'm doing what I love, wouldn't want to do anything else, and I'd do it for free without question.
Find your zen, whatever makes you happy. Life is just too short to do otherwise.
Grasshopper
Facebook
Twitter