Propulsion
Somewhere between shower and cereal, I started one day last week alternating cuts from Freewheelin' Bob Dylan — the angry cuts, Masters of War, A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall, Bob Dylan's Dream — with the Alicia Keys + Beyonce's Put It in a Love Song. The latter played better in my car both commutes the day prior, but turning up the speakers helped. The goal was to get fired up, which is equal parts fire and progress.
Same holds for Jay-Z's On to the Next One and sleeping on the couch.
I've been wearing ties to work and sleeping on my couch every night of 2010. Life is unresolved in a number of ways, and I have to tip the outcome. Satisfaction, by reasoned accounts, isn't coming otherwise.
The ties are a reminder. I don't like wearing ties every day and don't have that many. But the way your or my ancestor might tie a string around a finger to keep something in mind, I'm tying a big fancy string around my neck every day to keep fighting, keep cool, keep pushing.
The couch, like the music, is propulsion. You can sleep on a blue couch a few nights, no problem, but every night you sleep on the couch, you like it less. You can fall asleep just fine. But when you wake, the couch tells you to get up. You can't just lie there. You know this after the first nights. You wake up, and you are up. You're the only one in the space, and you're going to the only one all day. So, get up and get it done.
On to the next one, on to the next one, on to the next one…
