Category Archives: Hustle


The moment I knew I had a bad job.

I once worked at a company that started serving dinner in the corporate cafeteria.

They announced it under the guise of convenience. “Now you can have dinner options you can bring home to your family!”

Despite the upbeat email, everyone at the company knew this was a terrible sign.

Let’s be honest, what family wants you to bring home a styrofoam container of office cafeteria spaghetti and sadness? Have you ever eaten lunch in a corporate cafeteria (that wasn’t Facebook or Google) and thought, “I wish I could have this for dinner, too! You know who would love eating this? My family!”

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The writer’s cabin is a myth.

Every writer secretly believes in the writer’s cabin.

In our heads we see a small isolated cabin in a quiet patch of woods. There’s a porch with a swing out front. We sit on that when we need a break from all the amazing words we’ve written inside. There’s not much behind that cabin door, just a humble table like Hemingway probably used, a chair our grandfather made by hand and some sort of way to gather our words.

For some, it’s a stack of fresh, white paper and a favorite pen. Others see a typewriter that makes real clickity clack sounds with each brilliant word you capture.

The days pile up as the pages do too and we emerge from this literary sabbatical with a book and a beard. (Unless you’re a lady, the beard is not nearly as cool in your story.)

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Dear person going to a job you don’t love tomorrow.


Dear person going to a job you don’t love tomorrow,

I used to hate Sunday. On the worst weeks I could feel it starting to arrive when I laid in bed on Saturday night. On the best weeks I could fight it back until the sun went down on Sunday.

But as the light changed to dark and the day got late, I couldn’t lie to myself, Monday was coming. I would go back to a job I didn’t feel called to and collect one more photocopy of my life. That’s what it felt like. As if every Monday in Atlanta was just like the last Monday and the next Monday. There wasn’t a lot of color, just grays and blacks, in the continuous cycle of commute, work, commute.

Maybe that’s you. Maybe you know what I’m talking about. Maybe it’s your husband or your friend and you need to send this post to them immediately. Regardless, here we find ourselves on a Sunday night. (Or worse yet, a Monday morning when this post will be emailed to you if you signed up for that.)

Why will this week be different? Will this Monday be less “Monday” than the last?

The simple truth is it won’t be unless you will be first. That’s the thing about Monday. Monday only knocks you over if you don’t knock it over first.

There is no career unicorn, trust me I have looked with great fervor. All there is are these two hands, these two feet and grit. Always grit.

Grit is one of those funny things you don’t seem to find until you’ve had enough Monday. Enough discouragement. Enough invisibility at a job that gave you a promotion in responsibility but not salary. A job that stole your weekends and measured your vacation days to the very minute.  A job that told you one day, “You should just be glad you have a job right now.” That is garbage.

But I know a secret, friend. Want to know what it is?

This world is full of great jobs.

Ignore the reports about unemployment. Statistics are a prison if you let them be. And they’re not measuring the job you’re going to create. The one that doesn’t even exist yet. The one you’re going to dig up from deep within the Internet or create with your bare hands out of seemingly thin air. Those jobs aren’t on most peoples’ radar.

They’re on mine though. And they need to be on yours too.

Is there such thing as a perfect job? No, I do not believe in that.

But there are better jobs. Fun jobs. Dare I say amazing jobs and companies that offer them.

To people like you and people like me.

Monday is coming, perhaps it is already here. But I don’t care.

Monday is just a word on a calendar. You’re the force to be reckoned with. That’s why I wrote Do Over. You’re going to work for 40 years at a job, which means you’ll face Monday more than 2,000 times. What if we could rescue it and actually look forward to it?

Most people let Monday win, but not you.

You’re the one who is going to do something different.


Fear no Monday.