Chapter Two
In which, if you actually do what you really want to do, nobody can dare to claim they missed your point or were unclear where you stand. And that's precisely why this week is hardly an occasion for subtlety.
With the holiday spirit nipping at your nose, a rapidly approaching new year to anticipate, and a mounting lack of patience for having to make ethical or philosophical compromises, just to keep other people snug in their complacency… the climate is ripe for you to mount a 'Fuck Discretion!' campaign.
How will anybody suffer from your pre-new-year's resolution to quit doing crap you hate, as a token of commitment to your own well-being?
This is your life we're talking about here… and I'd hate to see you suck in your disruptive creative antagonisms, just to secure that ten-cent-an-hour raise at the paper clip factory, especially when there are Everests to climb and Amazons to ford, gods to bow down before and values to cherish at all costs.
Stir that shit, homey.
Tell 'em where they can stick the logo-encrusted coffee mugs the company has chosen to distribute this week in lieu of a bonus check. Then, throw the mug out the window.
Growl if you've got to.
Bark at the moon, even.
And please, oh please, don't fear the repercussions.
For every punitive restriction they try to place on you, there's another rule you've just been invited to break. As long as you've spent adequate advance effort in articulating to yourself what your rules for a meaningful and successful life are to be, you should feel profoundly free to follow 'em—at the expense of other, more limiting or altogether ill-fitting prohibitions imposed by folks who hardly have your best interests in mind anyhow.
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