Recently, a woman a bit older than I am said, ‘“I never wanted to work.” She then went on to say that she decided at 12 years old that she only wanted to read, which made the former statement a bit easier to swallow; after all, reading is a goal for so many of us. This isn’t about reading though—because it’s clear that books need no defender. This is about the first statement and what I feel is so wrong with that idea and how, even though I am lucky enough to not need to work to support my family, the work ethic is ingrained in me.
In the last week, the universe has called my attention to the importance of work three times. Universe, I am listening. The above comment brought it all home to me, like a mother, or a school teacher gently grabbing your chin and saying, pay attention to this … bring it forth.
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