Firefighters in Richmond are not allowed to take a day off?

Police in Richmond have put up “sleeping trailers” behind the police station so if their schedule doesn’t allow time to drive home, they can rest there?

This is not healthy, folks. These are symptoms of larger problem(s) with our society, but I have trouble pinpointing and defining exactly which problem, and what can be done about it. What is my role?

Here in California, you’d think us woke liberals would have it all figured out. But we don’t.

What I can tell you is that workaholism is not a badge of honor, although Americans generally treat it as such. What I’ve come to know is that over-identifying with your profession, your vocation, your job, your career, it’s common here and I don’t think it serves us well. All of us are more than our occupation, we’re daughters, wives, husbands, parents, siblings, bicycle riders, dog walkers, rollerskaters. We contain multitudes, to paraphrase Walt Whitman.

A How-To Guide for overcoming workaholism

A while ago I bought a small 5×6 inch book at a gift shop called “How To Not Always Be Working, A Toolike for Creativity and Radical Self-Care,” by Marlee Grace. At the time, I found it’s basic list making and “tools” to be too simple and, frankly, beneath me. I didn’t have patience for this, and furthermore, I was annoyed that the author was only 30 years old when Morrow Gift, an imprint of William Morrow, (which is owned by Harper Collins,) put this out in 2018. I was in need of these tools that the tiny book contained, but the jealousy and envy of her having a book out at such a young age was poisonous to me. I’d always longed to be a writer. I struggled with work/life balance at all my tech jobs, but I was nowhere near calling myself a writer yet. (Even though I wrote nearly every day in my journal, and had started this blog.)

Now, eight years after the publication of that book, I’ve granted myself permission to call myself a writer. I’ve quit the corporate world, and I’ve been fortunate enough to support my creative endeavors with just-enough freelance research to fund this lifestyle. I’ve recognized the work I am putting into fostering my creativity, while also not over-identifying with the title. Once I become a published author, I know I will probably face the desperate ego-driven impulse to hurry up and get my next book out, before I’m faded. I recognize this might be called white privilege, perhaps some call it unearned advantage, and I for sure feel like I’m champion of being in a system of advantage.

But what about those cops and firemen?