The long weekend has come and gone and we are all back at work. You would think that coming back from a vacation, however short it may be, would make work not seem that depressing, or at the least not draining. Right after the last holiday of the weekend, Tuesday morning, as we got ready for work the predominant thought in some of our minds is , ‘why am I doing this?’ and even deeper question, ‘do I not have anything better to do than go to work?’. Of course once you get to work and start going through tasks in your queue you enter the time portal where all external stimuli like bliss, love and sunlight do not exist, even in the jargon, and all that drives one is the unenviable pleasure of completing a task in one’s queue, or finishing an incomplete task of some one else or assigning tasks for others to finish or, worst of all, reviewing others’ work and letting them know, within one’s infinite wisdom and humility, that they are incompetent and that their work needs to be redone. If it is not for the free coffee, hilarious people and extremely rare moments of true accomplishment, a workplace is just a well disguised hamster wheel in cubicle form with the most banal curtains. In the real world, a real hamster would at least not have the agony of knowing that its youthful dreams are being subject to severe torture until those dreams don’t have a soul to hang on to. But one does it everyday; every month; every year. Counting off days until the next long weekend, slightly longer break, for which the corporate term being ‘long vacation’ and the longest possible break which is retirement. The core of a man, now barely lit with the faintest of light, is illuminated only by the hope that all these years of mental toil that chews, gnaws, saps and eventually strips all that is good and best from one’s soul would lead to a state of financial stability, relatively speaking.
And then there are places, almost magical. You go to work an hour early because you want to. When you leave work, you are almost sad that you have to. But its ok, you know it yourself, because you can always work from home and may be even come earlier tomorrow. Every time you finish your work, you feel like you just took a shot of highly concentrated drug off of a Playboy model’s belly. You can’t stop thinking about your work and often find yourself going on and on, to your friends, about how awesome your work is and that one is blessed to even be a small part of it. You proudly show off your awards and merits, certificates of accomplishment and every single email of appreciation to anyone who is willing to endure them. And its mesmerizing. Every ear that hears those sweet words pour out of your mouth, endlessly praising your work, hears the rhyme that was unmatched even in Shakespearean works. No individual can escape the intoxicating spell that is your job and the only outcome that such an individual can expect out of such an encounter is a feeling of justified belittlement and in some cases authentic inspiration that can change a man’s life on its head. There no consideration for money because you know its growing. You never looked at the paychecks or bills because money is almost an after thought.The only fear that crowds the minds of such employees is the eventuality of retirement. Only the younger minds are gripped by this dread of not being able to do all that is amazing after retirement, but as they grow old they also grow peace in the fact that after retirement they will leave behind something bigger than themselves, completely aware of the fact that they are indeed, without a shadow of doubt, proud of what they have done with their lives. Of course such type of work is what is called a career.
What do you think?
Should a man waste his God (or whatever) given time of his infinitely powerful, and possibly only, shot at life in an employment that diminishes him to an insignificant drone trying to secure a better future for his and his family and there by making sure he fulfills his responsibility that is bestowed upon him by society that expects every man and women to play their part in moving it forward.
Should a man throw caution to wind, water and/or anything else in this universe that tries to stop him from his want, plaster a big Fuck You sign in his forehead for all against him to see as he sprints down life’s freeway thrashing all obstacles in front of him like pesky bugs, that they are, assume no responsibility to others, while wholly embracing the eternal obligation to pursue his ultimate quest which is to achieve complete and ultimate awesomeness.
Seriously, what do you think?
22 down. 343 more to go. See you tomorrow.
(I am on a blog-a-day-for-a-year crusade. Keep me motivated with your comments. Or cash)