What would it look like?

What would it look like if you “bounded out of bed in the morning,” as Seth Godin put it?

What would it look like if you never felt tempted by the snooze button?

What would happen if you wrote every day and drew every day and failed at at least one objective every day?

Beautiful writing would be written. Poignant sketches one day would be followed by tears and screams of laughter merely hours later if you felt so inclined to draw two ideas in one sitting.

You wouldn’t have to confront a “fuck you” because no one would want to inflict such pain on another’s person’s fragile state of mind. People would love and bless the seventeen minute subway commute to their work because it was the God-given connection between where they slept and where they made explosively, bomb-shell-like creative work.

Instead of misery and trudging to work, there would be smiles. Full-faced smiles, sincerity fogged smiles, ecstastic that another day has arrived to be full in the world.

Surliness would be a myth. Reserved for those suffering in the throes of mental illness: anxiety and stress and depression. People to be helped and relieved rather than cast off like a broken mug.

What would it look like if people did not give a flying fuck what they were supposed to do and instead decided to give their fullness to the world? Whatever it was?

What would it look like if people found themselves in their creative work rather than work being the labor to support Netflix and porn addictions?

What if people decided a plush prison was not enough? And then worked to find fullness?

What if you were happy?


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