Bad Habits Never Die.

It is always with the best of intentions that I set forth every year with a series of personal goals and small changes I want to make to better balance my life and support the people in it. I examine the landscape of my interpersonal relationships and the terrible awful no-good work/life balance I have created for myself and say, "Okay. Okay. I understand and respect why I am here, I do not regret what I've done. But I do want to do better." This is my personal road to Hell, paved with good intentions and therapy and respect for myself. I look at all of this, I acknowledge it, and I move forward to... tread the same deeply ingrained neural pathways as before, maybe slightly to the left of centre, but rooted in the same bullshit.

What are you on about now? Maybe you think. For those of you not thinking that- you probably already know what I'm talking about. Last year I took it "easy"- running only Little Ghosts Books and the publishing house after The Sidekick closed, and cutting way way down on out of town travel. It felt nice to be closer to home and juggle less, even if it meant money was tight. Unfortunately by the end of the year it was financially very tight. Our Purolator guy remarked how well rested I seemed, which was so lovely to hear, but it was hard for me to look at our bank accounts and feel like the trade was worth it. I was sleeping when not losing sleep about how long we would be able to continue. You know, the usual small business owner shit. By the time our January break rolled along I knew I had to do something and I cast a wide net- I talked to the staff openly about our debt, and we brainstormed ideas on how to have the bookstore accomodate more programming without accumulating additional loans and operating costs. I also put out a ton of freelance calls and applied for part time work, applied to school, offered to mentor with a nonprofit I like again. Anything to keep me from feeling like I would stagnate and slowly stop being able to make ends meet.

So now here we are, in late February, in a very familiar-to-me type of crunch: I cannot keep up with the amount on my plate. Instead of creating, breathing in, and making space for myself even though my accounts are empty... I have forced myself into a level of hustle that will lead to burnout. Outside of all the planning and outreach I solicited and chased which paid off (I have a paid freelance editing gig, a part-time job with a lobbying agency whose work I admire, and my school application and OSAP is pending for a May start-date), a new oppurtunity slapped Little Ghost in the face. We are running a second location as a PopUp inside Toronto's Union Station. Because everyone gets as broke and scared as I do in January, the staff very optimistically wanted to just absorb the extra hours to pad thier bank accounts. I don't blame them! However, we are short-handed and now quickly all overworked. I've felt like crying by around 1pm on the dot pretty much every day for the last two weeks. And because of course because why not because when-it-rains-it-pours we had some family stuff come up. I am certain at any given moment I am forgetting something, and I am absolutely fumbling to be there blearily for my relatives, and I am still seeing friends somehow but apologizing profusely as I let them into my messy house for takeout because it is all I can do.

[A complete aside, but I would love to not attend or plan to attend or send food to the family in lieu of attending a funeral every year. Could folks I know please stop dying for at least 12 months? PLEASE?! Thank you]

So, less than two months into the year, I have failed in my mission to better schedule myself for sustained comfort and happiness as a human person with my own needs. It's a NEW RECORD. Why is it so goddamn hard to change behaviours?! Not to self-analyze, but I suspect there are several factors at play here. It took me nearly three straight years of weekly sessions to finally say to my therapist that I was worried people might think I was lazy. This was met with what I can only describe as a guffaw. I don't know what in the ingrained toxic masculinity is wrong with me exactly, but I think this about myself almost constantly. If I can't cover my own costs and the costs of those around me I am convinced I have not worked hard enough and everyone knows that I am a layabout failure who definitely just hasn't exerted the required effort and that is the only reason for any financial shortfall. It doesn't matter that intellectually I know many companies are bankrolled by family (I have never had that), or private investment (hey-anyone know an independently wealthy person who wants to write-off a bookstore/publishing house? Would love to meet them), or close in the first year or two (phew luckily I have managed to run for 9yrs and 4yrs, respectively). I think I can hard work my way out of any hole and if I am still in a hole I am just not trying hard enough. Owning a small business which comes with a ton of hustle-culture messaging has obviously combined with this mindset super well.. heh. It is quite frankly a miracle that I haven't hospitalized myself in several years due to exhaustion. So maybe I HAVE improved!

All of this is really not helped by the fact that our entire society basically parrots all of this brainrot thought back at me. That if you work hard enough, you could be comfortable and successful and morally clean and nothing bad will happen to you. Of course I know this is bullshit capitalist propaganda. The very broken economy that only serves those who already have wealth wants so squish us all into dumb little worker cogs that chug along creating equity for shareholders and its inhumane and unfair to the human animal and in order to counter a system I don't believe in maybe I can create some comfy not-sucking jobs for some people I like and then do all of the unpleasant labour myself, yes? Will that make me good? Except no one I know actually wants to watch me kill myself this way, and jumping on the grenade of the socioeconomic problems crippling the globe won't actually save anyone I love from the blast of those exploding systems. It just hurts me, and as a depressive masochist with doom-y suicidal ideation, hurting myself does ironically feel good. Hence the therapy to remind myself that it is bad, actually. A malaligned trauma response coping mechanism disguised in a "I-Just-Love-To-Work-Hard" trenchcoat. People even sometimes cheer for my self-harm! Tricked 'em.

So, how do I break this overwhelming cycle that is so deeply tied to my self-worth? Hah! I think this is a lifelong struggle to not press the big red emergency MAKE YOURSELF BUSY button that I tend to slap with all my might when sitting in discomfort. I need to prioritize peace with the same urgency that I chase projects. What if hosting dinners, gardening, and movie nights with friends were just as important as career accomplishments, money, and creating/learning? Despite everything I have said, year over year, I have gotten better at that equation. The people in my life and the quality time I spend with them lives in my heart and keeps the fires lit long after the comparatively small sparks of business accomplishment have went out.

Now I will just have to learn that time on my own, unpacking feelings (ew) and planning for my own enjoyment (what?) is just as enriching. Maybe I can analyze ROI on my Quiet Time Spent Alone and spreadsheet myself into believing that. Honestly, whatever will work at this point.