Old school blogs is a project about connection, where we pose the questions nobody ever asks but everyone has an answer to. Today: what does your perfect day look like?
I can’t remember what it was called, but I once read a self-help book that focussed on people’s ideal days. Before people were asked to outline their goals, their dream careers or even their values – they were asked what their ideal days looked like. From there, they could begin to work backwards and figure out what the answers to those other questions were.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this. I’ve just come off the back of a year of freelance writing on a content mill scale: relatively low effort work for low effort pay. I’m about to go back into my final year of university, and then I will be faced with actualising my life on a much longer timeframe. Aside from in the abstract, I’ve never had to think about what my life should look like more than twelve months in advance.
So: for today’s old school blog, we’re gathering data. I’m going to share what my ideal day would look like, as it stands now. Then I can look back after graduation and see if that’s still what I want – and read the comments to see the other lives that other people see as just as valuable. Or at least, I hope so.
I wake up at six. Sneak out of bed, up to the attic office – with the racks of costumes and the keyboard on one side, and the filming space on the other. Sit at the desk that divides the two halves – free write for ten minutes, then spend an hour on whatever YouTube script needs my attention that day.
Sneak downstairs again. Make tea so the kettle wakes the boyfriend up gently. Slide back into bed, tea on tray, swap kisses and plans under duvets before toast at the kitchen table. Walk to the end of the rain-soaked lane, bid them goodbye.
Return to laptop. Work on blog posts or articles, whichever deadline comes first, then leave at lunchtime. Venture out: to shoot outfit posts, interview bands, lead poetry workshops. Every day is different.
Home in the afternoon to film YouTube videos, start on dinner before he comes home. Sneak in an hour of piano practise. Then out again, for dance classes on the nights I have spare, poetry shows or burlesque slots on the nights I don’t. Every now and again, the blog gains us invites to screenings and parties, cocktail buzz and sleepy taxis home. On the good ones, I make a point to journal and stretch before bed. On the bad ones, I have to order breakfast pizza just to get out of the bedroom.
And these are the days when neither of us are on tour. When I don’t sit in the back of his bus, working until the wifi drops out, then swapping notebooks – to the poem, to the novel, to the song. I try to book my tours around the same time, spend each day collabing with new artists in new cities. Then my show – sticking around to meet everyone at the open mic, sitting in lingerie in the dressing room with people with Von in their names at the burlesque showcases.
Dash across town to meet him at the artist door of his show: watch as he signs and takes photos, help with the load-out if I can. Revel in the days where he can come to mine, sitting in the shadows in dark glasses, smiling conspiringly.
In between, there’s the hairless cat and the golden retriever. The creative retreats and the dawn yoga. The Saturday night living-room rum. I am balanced, I am happy, I am accomplished.
… That’s mine. What does yours look like? Without shame, without limits, without expectations? Let me know in the comments!