Space (and Persistent Thoughts of Virginia Woolf)
Executive Summary
It’s not the grind, it’s the space.
The delusion and trap of capitalism.
Leaving one grind only to find myself in another grind to fund my new, non-grind lifestyle.
Not writing.
Getting COVID in 2025 and finding space again and then going back to work and losing it again.
Persistent thoughts of Virginia Woolf.
Creating/maintaining space is hard and scary.
Argument for Universal Basic Income.
Knowing something intellectually but not believing it in your body yet.
Practice, reminding, continuing, until you feel it in your bones.
It’s not the grind, it’s the space.
That’s where the breakthroughs happen. That’s where your creativity is. That’s where you can allow what is right and aligned to emerge and climb like a vine.
The society and structure we live in does everything in its power to make you forget this. When it’s this <waves hands around> hard to earn a living to pay your bills, your priorities shift. In some ways it’s survival, in other ways, it’s the opposite.
In our delusion we sacrifice space - fertile, productive, powerful space - for the grind. We have been conditioned to believe that we must make a plan, work hard, stay clocked in, keep pushing, never be lazy. If you want it, work for it. If you want to be worthy, work harder.
The delusion isn’t our fault. It’s the story we’ve been told, and it’s the economic reality we live in. Don’t work, don’t get paid. You’re tired? Too bad, rent’s due. Want some healthcare? Then stay in that job with the benefits even if it’s making you miserable.
I realized recently I’ve been stuck in a grind, even though it’s been about a year since I intentionally left the grind. But I left one grind only to find myself in another, to fund my new non-grind lifestyle.
When I was laid off, looking at ads for full-time office jobs filled me with dread. I just don’t want to do that anymore. So I’ve built a new lifestyle for myself out of part-time jobs instead. It feels scary and risky and irresponsible - and delicious. It’s an identity shift to remove myself from the corporate career pipeline. And so far, it’s working. I’m happier, I’m more relaxed, I’m having more fun at work, and the bills are getting paid.
Sometimes it feels fragile. I’m an hourly worker. There’s no PTO or sick time, no benefits. If I don’t work, I don’t get paid. It’s easier to work a lot when you enjoy your work and your colleagues, but that You Must Be Responsible part of me pushes me a little too hard to work as much as I can “just in case.” Get it while it’s hot.
I knew I was working too hard, I knew I needed a break, but I just kept pushing a little more, just get through the next 2 days, the next week, and then I could have a break. And my body said no. It was a few days before Labor Day weekend and somehow I had COVID. Plans cancelled, work cancelled, money I counted on earning, gone. Relegated to the couch.
I was so annoyed and worried about missing out but I knew all I could do was surrender. After a summer of waking up before 5am for 9 hour shifts, my little (fortunately mild) COVID break had me staying in bed til 9am, and then, leaving the bed unmade. Unheard of in this house! Generally, I love my disciplined morning routine. But wow did it feel like a vacation to break all my own rules. And one of the first things I did when I realized I was stuck in the house was sit down to write.
Space. I’ve been thinking about it so much. Remembering how surprised I was at how much space I had last year in my first weeks of unemployment. It was dazzling. And now I’ve filled my days to the brim and I come home exhausted, without the energy or social bandwidth to do anything much more than lie down. I’ve been keenly aware that I haven't done much writing in a few months because I’m too drained to sit down at my desk after a long day in my service job and too antsy to stay at my desk after my remote office job. I have one full day off per week, and it feels so short. I miss space.
Virginia Woolf kept coming to mind. A Room of One’s Own, in particular. I hadn’t read it since college, but remembered that Woolf posited that to write, a woman must have financial security and a quiet, private room. I finally got my hands on a copy and read it again. And what I remembered is true, and it’s what I’ve been feeling deep inside: the 2 ingredients needed to create space are quiet time alone, and a guaranteed income. For Woolf, her freedom came from the “500 a year” she received from an inheritance. Even if she could have had a lucrative job in the 1920s, a job would have taken up her time and energy. Woolf insists we can’t do the work of writing (i.e. creating) if we are simultaneously at work, taking care of the house, of children, and in a room full of people and distractions. And it sure feels true to me.
Space can be intimidating. It can feel like breaking the rules. And space requires calm and quiet and being alone with our thoughts. There are days I can’t even brush my teeth without putting on a podcast or a song. We don’t like to sit in the quiet. We like noise, entertainment, we like multitasking and seeing how much we can get done at once. There’s so much content to consume, we fear we will miss out if we don’t spend every moment consuming. Some people get up and leave yoga classes during savanasa, the quiet time of stillness at the end of practice because they can’t stand it. They’ll tell you it’s because they need to be doing, on to the next thing, their schedule is so unforgiving there is simply no time to do nothing so they get up and go. Space is hard for us to accept.
After the revelation I had about all the space I suddenly had when I couldn’t leave the house for 5 days, I went back to a normal work week and guess what happened. I was right back in my grind. I was too tired to write. I wasn’t too tired to scroll through TikTok.
I preach about rest vs. capitalist conditioning all of the time. But I still struggle to live it because I’m still convincing my body that it’s safe to believe it. I know it intellectually but I struggle to embody it, to feel it in my bones.
And so sure, sometimes it’s going to feel scary to work less and earn less. But I remind myself it’s about trust. Trust in life and alignment. Creation doesn’t happen by force. Effort is different from force or the daily grind. To create you need space. And in our social construct, space feels like a risk. Others may call it laziness or irresponsibility. But trusting space is where it happens. It requires bravery. Especially without Universal Basic Income.
(Opponents of UBI say it will make people lazy and expectant of handouts, but really what can happen is that it gives people breathing room. It could pull folks out of poverty. It lessens the pressure. It may provide more room for hobbies or volunteer work or exercise or even a safety net to start a small business. It could help put money back into the local economy at shops and restaurants. Alleviate pressure even just a little bit, and space opens. Quality of life improves. And maybe, creativity can take root and grow.)
I know now that working as many hours as I can may earn me an amount of money that makes me feel a certain level of comfort, but the trade off will be that I won’t write, I’ll socialize less, and feel the constant tension of not enough time.
If I work a little less, maybe I can think of the lost income as paying the mortgage for my creative garden. I have to trust the investment and that when the garden blooms, I’ll receive my yield. Am I approaching a level of woo-woo that is too woo-woo? I don’t want to be dismissive of the harsh economic realities of so many folks, and I am aware of my privilege to take the risk I’m taking.
I’m not saying we should all quit our jobs to be starving artists. Discipline matters, routine matters, doing your work matters. But what is your real work? Is it clocking in and out til you drop? (For some of us, this may be the necessity, and I wish I were not so.) Or is part of your work maintaining your space so you can create? So you have time to thrive? So you have time for your music or your family or to be outside? Capitalism has confused us about what our real work is, and how to best accomplish it.
If this perspective feels uncomfortable, that’s normal. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. What if we just try it on, even for a few minutes at a time. And maybe after a while we’ll be able to stay there a little longer, and longer after that.