All Week Days Are Bastards

6 years ago I was getting ready to quit the last office job that I had. I had saved a little money so that I didn’t have to worry about food and rent for the next couple of months, and I had no plans except to find out what I was going to do when I don’t have to do anything.

I kept thinking of the same metaphor: the 5-day work week reminded me of cops that I saw at sanctioned protests in Russia. Their job was to make sure the protesters followed a pre-approved route—if the people marching down the street were a river, the cops were its banks.

Like those cops, my work schedule was non-threatening, boring, there just to keep order, and making me feel suffocated—a good citizen, I was allowed to be free within the very narrow constrains I had reluctantly agreed to myself.

Leaving that job—just like every job before it—was one of the best decisions I’ve made. Soon, new ideas and opportunities have emerged in the space that I had freed up for them, and in a short time, one of these opportun…