Books — Rachel Johnson-Farias

The Real Work:

A (Recovering) Workaholics Guide to Your Creative Re-birth

Forthcoming

Are you tired of being useful to everyone except yourself? Was your last “vacation” to raise a child or care for a loved one who could not care for themselves? Have you had a negative physical reaction to work-related stress? If you answered yes to … — Are you tired of being useful to everyone except yourself? Was your last “vacation” to raise a child or care for a loved one who could not care for themselves? Have you had a negative physical reaction to work-related stress? If you answered yes to any of these questions, then it is time to stop leaning in or out and start standing tall. Our current system of work defies the basic laws of physics: always putting energy in and getting little (healthy) energy in return. What if our real work is that of valuing ourselves?
Penned in the height of a worldwide pandemic, Johnson-Farias invites you to commit to the only thing that can counter so much needless death: life. Through recognition, rest, isolation, preparation and courage, Johnson-Farias guides you through your own creative rebirth and calls you to recognize the truth at the heart of us all: you are creative, you have all the tools you need to birth your creative vision, and you deserve to be adored throughout the birth process.

The Beginning of Something

In a world that is increasingly disconnected, Rachel Johnson-Farias’ elemental book of poetry reminds us how little moments can connect all of us—any of us—any time. Each poem fills in the blank for the question, “Have you ever had a moment of___________.” And, because we are human, you’ll find yourself saying yes, I’ve had doubts and fears and sadness and joy. By the end, you too will believe in each little moment!

Excerpt:

I looked out of the front door and saw hell on earth. Orange skies thick with sulfur and ash and shadow. Everything was stuck--still and stagnate. The exhaust of cars driving by reeked of desperation and risk. Fleeing would mean fleeing into the unknown. Staying would mean constant alert until the danger had passed, candles, and lots of ice to keep the food in the fridge cold for who knows how long. Growing up in Stone Mountain, Georgia, I was used to brief power outages when summer storms would roll through. I even used to play in those storms.

This was different. We could not go outside, but a pandemic was raging that made us fearful of living indoors and sharing walls with neighbors who didn’t seem to wear masks or take covid very seriously at all. Locked in with the killer, my children’s eyes asked me a million questions a day. I chose to be blind to most of them in order to protect us both from the truth that death felt closer than it ever had. The truth that mommy and daddy can’t control these things like our children think we can--all we could do is try our best to protect them. I cried. I thought about where we could go to be free of this dread? What could we possibly afford? Who could we rely on...really rely on? How do we rely on ourselves? How am I going to make all these meetings I have if the kids are home 24/7?

Dramatic Pause. One of these thoughts was not like the others. Some thoughts were focused on life and death and freedom, but what was this nonsense about meetings? If you rewind to the opening sentence, I was literally living in hell on earth and my mind went to meetings and work??? Why the fuck was I thinking about work?