Beyond work

A deep yearning for a life of freedom and purpose beyond the confines of a traditional career sits squarely in my soul. I long to escape any and every “soul-sucking endeavour" and to trade in the mantle of professionalism" for the "cloak of a clown," to roam freely and live by the beach. This isn't just about not wanting to work; it's about wanting to truly live.

The good news is that there are ways to create a life that's more aligned with your desires, even if it feels impossible right now. It might not be a total escape to a beach cottage tomorrow, but it could be a gradual shift towards a life that offers more of the freedom and fulfillment you crave.

Let’s discard the practicalities and wander into the realm of what could be, where the soul-sucking hum of the workplace is replaced by the roar of the ocean. Imagine not a plan, but a story.

Once upon a time, you simply untied the rope. It wasn't a sudden, dramatic severing, but a quiet, intentional release. You didn't quit; you simply stopped showing up. The whatsapps piled up, unread; the meetings began without you. For a moment, a small, delightful panic set in…what would they do? But the question faded, replaced by the cool morning air on your face.

Your first day as a wanderer began not with a report, but with a walk. You left the front door unlocked, the keys on the table, and walked barefoot into a world you had only seen from a car window. The city faded behind you, a distant memory of concrete and glass. The pavement gave way to a dirt path, and the path to a wild, untamed shoreline.

You found it there, a tiny cottage with blue shutters and peeling paintwork. It was not a purchase, nor a rental, but a discovery. Inside, a window framed the endless sea, and a single, well-worn armchair invited you to sit and watch the tide. This was your library, your studio, your sanctuary. Time, once a tyrant of deadlines, became a gentle, endless stretch.

You spent your days not on a schedule, but on a whim. The morning sun would find you sketching in a worn notebook marking passage you wrote and read, and reread a million times, chuckling at your own ignorance, and your own wit, the lines of the shore becoming the bones of a new world. Afternoons are for debates with him, arguments over the best way to catch a breeze, followed by a long, luxurious naps that melted into twilight. Dinner was a feast of berries and cream cakes and the stories the waves told the shore.

You traded your professional attire for a sundress, the golden yellow now sun faded. You twirl and laugh, and your laughter ignites joy. You sit in the tiny cottage, outside the wind whistling gently, and the birds listen in to the conversation about daffodils and kiwis.

And the sea laps at the shore, and the sun waves goodbye to another good day spent in service of the soul.

And at night, yawns are lazy, and arms stretch wide as you shed your inhibitions like old clothes and glide into the warm bed to his waiting arms. He tastes salt on your skin and wraps you up against his beating heart, life is wonderful, you think as you drift off as if alarm clocks never existed.