Hustlers

My ex-wife once once told me, in the midst of her post-departure-angst, that I was "nothing but a goddamn hustler!" At the time I wasn't sure what to make of that. How to take it... Was that a bad thing? Shit to be ashamed of? I've spent the better part of my adult life working for myself. For better or for worse. Cleaning cars, writing about racing stuff, and most recently marketing for the motorcycle. It's all uphill. Treading water with weights around your ankles. But those big, deep breaths you get to take, when the air is ripe with opportunity and you can see everyone along the shoreline crossing tasks off their lists and tackling to-dos, for someone else? That's when you know this hustle shit is worth it. When I replay that comment she made, reflect for a second, and then, yep... I'm out here hustling like a motherfucker. For me. Because I'd rather die drowning than be sunburned on the shore.