Bin men at work
It’s 6:54 on a cold 1st of January. I’m starting the year at work, putting in a shift whilst New Year’s parties still rage on. After a tough last year, this is setting the tone for a new start. Barely touched and still in its original packaging, this year is full of promise and opportunity. So here I am, grasping it with two hands prepared to ride onwards.
Except, I'm not working, and the only riding I'm doing is in my Uber towards my flat. In fact, that introduction wasn't from my perspective at all but from that of a bin man I spot outside my building. I’ve just left a New Year’s Eve gathering and finished my last beer, of many, just ten minutes ago.
The rotating yellow lights of their truck fill my dark Uber as if I were in a party bus for one.
I pull out my phone and open the Notes app to a fresh page which I title with the date, as I often do when my Moleskine journal isn't to hand. I feel inspired, but in that embarrassing drunk way where everything seems like the spark of a hidden, creative genius I've had inside me all along. As I imagine the crowds of adoring fans belting out my discography of songs unwritten, I begin to type:
"Bin men at work."
I've known for a while that I need a fresh creative outlet. Not that I'm particularly arty or have a trapped passion waiting to burst onto a canvas or song sheet. Just something where I can use my mind differently in hopes of eliminating any fatigue which might be holding me back.
I've been at the same line of work for a decade now and, whilst I mostly enjoy it, I feel like I'm at a fork in the road. I either stay comfortable and wait to be replaced by AI, or I venture out into the great big world and see what's out there. The New Year feels like a good time to try and do something about that.
Writing wasn't the obvious answer at first. I journal nearly every day, but I'm not particularly creative at it. My journals are a place for my mind to unload and release the pressure of overthinking (which I'm brilliant at). Nevertheless, I can't shake this urge to organise these rambles into something digestible and public-facing. So here we are.
Interestingly, this doesn't give me the faux "this is gonna be big" excitement which I often have with new ideas. So hopefully that's a good sign that it's worth it and not an overblown pipe dream. I'm not sure what I'm going to write - maybe mental health, work, politics, my problem with people who walk out of shop doors without checking for passers-by. I think the important thing is that I just write.
So, onwards to something I'll likely forget about in a week.