Work. There's that four-letter word again. It's the word we love to hate, but it doesn't have to be that way.

Whether you're working a full-time job for some thankless employer or retired like I am, you may be working without even knowing it. Work, ignoring any kind of textbook definition, comes in many forms.

If you look at my Technorati profile, you'll see that it says (over on the left) that "blogging is my new career choice". If it doesn't say that, it means that Technorati is flaking out again and displaying the old information that I changed over a week ago. The gist of the matter is that I consider blogging a form of work, even though it's a form of work that I enjoy.

It's my sincere belief that all humans need and crave work of some kind. Stay-at-home moms might not consider what they do as work, but it's work nonetheless. If all you're doing is being involved in a charity, or even a church, you're doing a form of work. Work serves one of our basic needs in life. The need for a sense of purpose, a sense of direction.

As I'll write about later today, I had to conquer some of my own fears in order to be in the position where I could choose my own kind of work. Even though I don't have a set schedule, I have goals and things I want to accomplish without getting sucked into what I like to call "the time crunch".

Sponsored posts play a vital part in some of my goals and it's something you might want to look into for yourself. Heck, I've been getting paid anywhere from $5.00 (in US dollars) to $40.00 per post. I've paid for my domain names and my web hosting with my earnings so far and I plan to buy a new computer with future earnings. Not a laptop again and not just a desktop computer. I want to buy one that will last at least two years before I have to replace even one component and it's not going to be cheap.

It isn't for everyone, but some of you might want to read through some of my various writings to see how I got to where I am today. It might inspire you to try something similar or go in a completely opposite direction. The choice is yours to make.

(Update 2007-09-22: Other commitments prevented me from writing the other article. It's coming soon.)

Everyone in the world, even those who think they are guiltless, has committed an infraction of some law, some code, or some ethos at one time in their lives. With all the variables that are currently in place, it's impossible not to. There are those who believe that every infraction should be punished in some way. I submit that those particular people have no idea what kind of damage they can do.

Sometime in 1990, while I was stationed in Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, a marine (let's call him Fred) who controlled the military ID cards told me that he had issued a fake ID to another marine (let's call him Barney) in order for him to get into a bar (the only information on the ID that was actually fake was the age). Both men were 19 years-old. Both of them worked for me. I, of course, worked for another marine (let's call him Slater) who happened to be on leave at the time. We all worked in the battalion administrative center.

The reason that Fred told me about it was because he realized he had made a mistake and didn't want to see Barney get into trouble, no matter how remote the possibility. Barney had no idea that Fred had confessed. In my professional opinion, both of them had made mistakes that could set them back if I didn't handle it properly. I had to accomplish two things after finding out: One, I had to retrieve the fake ID card and two, I had to make them realize that what they did was wrong without taking a stripe and pay away from them. Court-martial or nonjudicial punishment was not the answer to the problem.

I couldn't just come right out and ask Barney to give me the fake ID card. He would deny having it and destroy it afterward. It would then be Barney's word against Fred's. So I gathered all the men in my office and told them an ID card was missing and that I knew one of them had it. I was going to lunch and if it was in my top desk drawer when I returned, then I wouldn't press charges against anyone. The ID card was there when I returned. I had Fred destroy it and log it as such in the ID card log.

One of the prerequisites to being a good leader is to know your men. I knew my men. Both Fred and Barney were outstanding marines, destined to move up in the military ladder. Both of them were highly motivated and could be counted on to do anything asked of them. Had I chose to press charges, I knew that I would have lost them to the segment of the marine population that was merely biding their time until released from active duty.

The following year, while our battalion and our office staff were camped out in the Middle East, Slater looked at the ID card log and noticed the destroyed ID and asked Fred about it, just out of curiosity. Fred confessed again — guilt's a powerful thing for some people. Slater got angry and had both of them receive nonjudicial punishment from the commanding officer. Slater was so hopping mad, he tried to get the battalion executive officer (his boss and next up in the food chain) to do something about me. I had a conversation with the XO and explained that it was my decision at the time to handle it the way I did. The XO agreed with my assessment of the situation that had occurred, but had been away from the camp when Slater did the deed with the CO. My marines would not have been punished had he been there.

Both Fred and Barney left the service at the end of their contracts. Each had lost a rank and weren't eligible for reenlistment, although they both loved the US Marine Corps. I had failed to keep good marines, knowing that there were bad marines that were allowed to continue in their careers only because they never got caught. Perhaps I made the wrong choice in 1990, but it was my decision and I still, to this day, do not regret that decision.