Corners, Not Quite Intact
People talk about being "in the zone," that place in which inertia takes over and everything is just effortless—in which it feels like it would be harder not to run another five miles.
If there is such a place, I have yet to find it.
Instead, I am in a mode in which everything is a struggle, in which I feel like I have to propel myself from one second to the next in some kind of desperate attempt at perpetual motion.
It is fruitless, of course. Still, I feel breathless in a way that would have other people turning to drink or drugs, either to prolong the feeling or to blunt its relentless tug.
The way I see it, my only chance is to project-manage my way to graduation (92 days and counting). I've got to map everything out—every assignment, every task, every deadline—and then operate like some hyper-efficient machine to get them all done.
And I have to be strategic.
That means choosing stories less because they are fascinating and more because they are practicable. That means doing writing exercises on subjects that require the least amount of time and effort to report. That means going against every element of nature or nurture that shaped my personality and made me always gravitate to the most difficult and challenging way to do anything.
And that means cutting corners if I have to.
Not ethical corners—I neither would nor could do that (Hi, have we met?)—but the other kind. The kind that never let me turn in anything other than my best work. The kind that prompt people to say, "You know this is all pass/fail, right?" The kind that made me the go-to person in my past professional life.
For the first time, I am working down to reasonable standards instead of up to my own.
It is purely self-preservation, completely necessary, and utterly unfulfilling.
But if I want to graduate in 92 days, it must be done.
If there is such a place, I have yet to find it.
Instead, I am in a mode in which everything is a struggle, in which I feel like I have to propel myself from one second to the next in some kind of desperate attempt at perpetual motion.
It is fruitless, of course. Still, I feel breathless in a way that would have other people turning to drink or drugs, either to prolong the feeling or to blunt its relentless tug.
The way I see it, my only chance is to project-manage my way to graduation (92 days and counting). I've got to map everything out—every assignment, every task, every deadline—and then operate like some hyper-efficient machine to get them all done.
And I have to be strategic.
That means choosing stories less because they are fascinating and more because they are practicable. That means doing writing exercises on subjects that require the least amount of time and effort to report. That means going against every element of nature or nurture that shaped my personality and made me always gravitate to the most difficult and challenging way to do anything.
And that means cutting corners if I have to.
Not ethical corners—I neither would nor could do that (Hi, have we met?)—but the other kind. The kind that never let me turn in anything other than my best work. The kind that prompt people to say, "You know this is all pass/fail, right?" The kind that made me the go-to person in my past professional life.
For the first time, I am working down to reasonable standards instead of up to my own.
It is purely self-preservation, completely necessary, and utterly unfulfilling.
But if I want to graduate in 92 days, it must be done.
posted by Jody Rosen Knower at 6:03 PM
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