I was in the London underground yesterday returning from a wonderful planning meeting at Trafalgar Square.  I love the London underground because it has clean, cushy seats that face each other.  In New York City, we have hard fiberglass seats, maybe that's what Frank Sanatra was talking about...Anyways, so I'm in the "tube" as they call it here.  And across from me, there's this kid with his dad.  Generally, I like kids, but it's not like I'm one of those aberrant gawkers that are so enamored by the site of these little people that keep waving and smiling until the kid gets most understandably creeped out and starts crying.  

But this kid.  There was something about this kid that resonated with me.  He started getting rowdy in the tube, which in NYC is one thing, but in London, which is a bit more reserved, such an "episode" would be that much more conspicuous.  Before the kid precipitated into an unmitigated "baby freak out", his dad, perspicacious sage that he is, ripped open his backpack, dove in, and within half a second retrieved the one instrument that could delay the bewailing that seemed so imminent...the coloring book.  The day is won!  Indeed, that was enough to stave off a spectacle in that subway car.  The kid gets to it.  Like Jordan in Madison Square, you can tell this kid just owns it.  This coloring book is his domain.  He is happy.  He is exploding with creativity.  Probably the reason why his dad didn't grab the Thomas the Train action figure (which would've been my choice).

So the kid is in his element.  He quickly flashes some of his art for the whole train to see.  The decrepit old dude sitting to his left, wearing a hideous mauve stitched jacket, did not seem to acknowledge his genius.  But I was a bit taken.  I knew there was something about this kid.  Nothing, not one page, was colored in the lines.  It's as if each of these pages was a blank canvas to the boy.  He didn't see laughing ducks.  And smiling bears.  And stupid kids playing hop scotch.  He unapologetically let his Excalibur-like blue crayon take him where his imagination, his creativity deemed most worthy, without regard to the presupposed, pre-populated enclaves of some dictatorial Coloring book Publisher.

That wasn't it, though.  The most indelible moment was yet to come.  Then his dad looked down at his book.  Realizing what a "mess" he was making, and maybe thinking that his kids' motor skills needed significant polishing, dad puts kid on his lap.  He then gently places his hand over his son's hand and starts guiding his crayon over the shell of a grinning turtle.  Within two seconds of this Kodak moment, the kid cocks his hand back and punches his dad right in the nose...Twice!!!  As if to say, "Hey dumbass, you think I don't see that freaking turtle with his grin!?!  I'm doing it my own damn way because I am more creative then some coloring book Editor that probably gave up his art a long time ago in exchange for a paycheck, a free pot of coffee every morning, and a cubicle!!!"  

There was no way in hell that anyone was going to tell this kid that in order to be "successful" he needed to color in the lines.

I've been doing a ton of thinking lately about why it is that we workshift.  Whether you work for yourself or an employer, of course, there are the pragmatic benefits.  The savings in overhead, the time freedom, the opportunity cost of the commute.  Maybe for you, these and other practical considerations are the only reasons and that's fine.  But I can't help but think there is a modicum of poetry in the liberty we have acquired.  A sense of pride swelling when we can join a community like Workshifting.  When we can say that we have usurped the circumscript confines of the Corporate World.

Many people don't realize this, but when Michelangelo was chosen to paint the Sistine Chapel, he had never actually painted a fresco before.  He was a sculptor not a painter.  Against his will, he was commissioned by Pope Julius II to paint the ceiling of the chapel.  Pope Julius II was called the "warrior pope" and he was as nefarious and autocratic as they come.  The arguments between him and Michelangelo are legendary.  It's said that from time to time, the pope would come to inspect Michelangelo's work, which Michelangelo abhorred, which is why he kept them covered.  One day, the pope became so irate that Michelangelo wouldn't follow his instruction or submit to his vision, that he cracked Michelangelo across the face with his scepter, shattering his jaw, and forever disfiguring him.  The pope had a definitive concept of what he wanted on that ceiling, and in spite of being the most feared man in the Western world, not one of his original, incredibly conventional ideas were included.  As Michelangelo put it, he would "do as (he) liked".  

No one was going to tell Michelangelo that in order to create a masterpiece he had to color in the lines.

Why do we workshift?

Because we are infinitely creative. passionate. inspired. unique.  And there is no way in hell that we will be relegated to a demarcated Sea of Cubicles for the rest of our lives.

Because no C-level magistrate is going tell us that in order to be heard, to succeed, to create masterpieces we have to adhere to the axioms of an archaic, life draining work environment.

Because no Six Sigma debutante is going to tell us that we need to acquiesce to Corporate platitudes just because everyone else is willing to absorb them.

Because nobody is going to tell us that we have to color in the lines.

So, that leads me to wonder...why do you workshift?

Photo by: Melissa Leon