When motivated, I work
In contrast to individuals who work only when motivated, there are a group of people who seem not to stop. In singling them out, I am not referring to those who take what they do very seriously, and thus essentially keep chipping away at whatever there is on their slate. As to that first type, when such individuals feel motivated to act, they try very hard and maybe put in a 120% effort vis-à-vis any work at hand. Likewise, concerning those who demonstrate staying power in that they don’t cease, they might be capable of 80% or more of an effort all of the time. Finally, those who chip away on ongoing basis perhaps do so at a level that represents 60% of their total capacity.
To put such into perspective, when young, we all try and put in as much effort as possible on a daily basis, with the result being that we work at maybe 100% or more of our innate capacity. However, with the passing of time, such a high level of output is unsustainable. Thus, when I was young, I was both vigorous and inclined to chip away at whatever chores presented themselves. However, upon actually entering the workforce and becoming a potter for a living, for some reason or other, I transformed into somebody whose inclination is to only work when I feel motivated enough to do so. Accordingly, in my career to date, there have been periods during which I have not put clay in my hands for many months. Likewise, I can recall instances of me sitting at my wheel for an entire month. Among the latter occasions, even if my hands were largely inactive, my brain was invariably in overdrive.
I should mention that over the years, I have had the opportunity to visit the premises of a well-known culinary giant in order to study under them. Then again, maybe the position of craftspeople like me and the interactions we have with such entities is somewhat different from that of the run-of-the-mill clientele. In offering suchan observation, when visiting restaurants, my purpose is not expressly to visually check up on how the food prepared is presented, or whether or not its taste is good. Rather, seeing how a particular chef conducts themselves represents for me a form of study.
To turn to the culinary giant, when sharing their knowledge, they offer that they are often judged based on their stance when standing behind the counter. Thus, among their clientele, “how they stand” personifies what it means “to have been recognized as one of the best chefs in the country for literally decades.” In having maintained that status, the person concerned suggests that they have “worked at around 80% of their abilities day-in and day-out.” To wit, once they have finished shaping and pressing a single piece of sushi for somebody at the counter, they immediately retire and disappear into a waiting room until called upon again. Before their next call happens, however, they are often witnessed thumbing through a newspaper. That is a snapshot that I have seen on occasion. To talk about such interactions, although I cannot see such clearly myself, I feel that there is a certain buzz. Thus, although I try and keep abreast of what transpires so as to not miss out on anything even for a second, the sense I get is that there is nothing in the way of any wasted movement. Furthermore, having witnessed my acquaintance work, it is hard to determine whether or not their actions are fast or slow. Personally speaking, over the years I have nevertheless become enamored by such a sense of fluidity. However, when I tried to replicate such an approach when sitting at my own potter’s wheel, I found it very difficult. Indeed, I thought that such would not be undertaken on an ongoing basis without there being an accompanying shortness of breath.
