How I Became Lazy

And why you should, too

Photo by Drew Coffman on Unsplash

I’m no stranger to hard work. I’ve worked a range of backbreaking jobs, from lawn care, in which I hacked apart tree stumps and ripped up Virginia creepers, to maid services, in which I scrubbed floors like Cinderella and cleaned up pile after pile of cat vomit. I’ve worked retail, in which my poor feet kept me standing for hours while entitled customers’ spittle flew into my face. I’ve worked a call center, where I got accustomed to hearing foul language as well as bigoted rants. And I’ve worked theatre, where I screwed sets together, pricked myself with sewing needles, and lugged endless bins of props and costumes up and down stairs.

Even after I settled into a cushy desk job, I was running ragged, packing every minute of my schedule with my graduate coursework and business launch. I spent weekends interviewing teachers for my thesis project, then hopped over to the art gallery to install my latest show. I biked to and from work, then to the circus school where I taught and trained aerial dance. I’d come home at about 9 pm to cook dinner, do chores, and write, then wake up at 6 am to do it all over again.

I was running on pure adrenaline from all the excitement of my life, fueled by a toxic combination of caffeine and alcohol. I subsisted on smoothies many days, and I caught clips of TV shows as I cooked and cleaned. I…