The amazing colossal wage slave
On the last day of my time off - you know, the time off to work on important projects, tune up the resume, finally get serious about the novel and the business and the future - I have played about a dozen games of Free Cell, read the paper, surfed all of my usual haunts, played with the cats, gotten myself fired as head coach of the Minnesota Vikings (Madden 2000 - hey, I've got an old computer), checked my e-mail - fired off a couple of overdue notes - and generally not gotten serious about the novel and the business and the future. I haven't even touched my homework from the wage-slave job.
Why do you suppose that is? A finite amount of time on this planet, and an even more finite time "all my own" - and the impulse is to squander it. Yes, yes, I know I'm not alone, and I'm not talking necessarily just about myself, but I certainly am a fine example of this. Often this frustrates me, but today I'm stepping aside myself and I realize it's fascinating and unfathomable.
A good friend of mine whom I've never met challenged me on this point after I made a big fuss again about refusing to be afraid. He wonders why folks (I think he means me) don't just take hold of their lives, assume responsibility for the risk, and follow their dreams. His theory is we're afraid. I think he's right.
Life is a scary thing. We careen around taking a series of risks, some more risky than others, and at some point we start getting tired of being burned, and we start taking fewer risks and we discover the path of least resistance, a comfort zone where maybe it's a T.S. Eliot existence - "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation" - but at least the bills are mostly paid, the tummy is fed and no one is threatening to take away our toys. And the dreams get hung up on the shelf.
Still ... still ... a little voice somewhere whispers, "You have bigger dreams than this. You wanted to do something important. You wanted to have a life more fulfilling than this!" So we decide to take a day or two to sort it all out. And instead we play video games, eat the bread and watch the circuses, and a day or two later it's back to the wage-slave job with nothing resolved.
I'm tempted to scream in frustration - but I'm in just the right mood to instead, look at this little beast who has grown up and lived a few decades and whom I've named B.W. Richardson, and I'm thinking: Isn't this guy's well-groomed inertia interesting? How long can he just sit here like this?
Oh, I congratulate myself: Becoming B.W. was actually a huge step. Do you know how long I thought about becoming someone like B.W.? Never mind, it was a while. And I'm having fun. But after reading and absorbing such important books as Do It! Let's Get Off Our Buts and How to Kill the Job Culture Before It Kills You - Look Ma, I'm still a wage slave!
What's the problem? Where's the disconnect? Hang on, I'm going to play a game of Free Cell and think about this ...
That one (#26620) was fairly easy - three aces lined up in a row there in the third row from the right, that helped big time. What! You thought I was kidding? OK, now that I've played true confessions, I think I'm going to go off and try thinking about the future again ... refusing to be afraid ... Gulp! Wish me luck!
Why do you suppose that is? A finite amount of time on this planet, and an even more finite time "all my own" - and the impulse is to squander it. Yes, yes, I know I'm not alone, and I'm not talking necessarily just about myself, but I certainly am a fine example of this. Often this frustrates me, but today I'm stepping aside myself and I realize it's fascinating and unfathomable.
A good friend of mine whom I've never met challenged me on this point after I made a big fuss again about refusing to be afraid. He wonders why folks (I think he means me) don't just take hold of their lives, assume responsibility for the risk, and follow their dreams. His theory is we're afraid. I think he's right.
Life is a scary thing. We careen around taking a series of risks, some more risky than others, and at some point we start getting tired of being burned, and we start taking fewer risks and we discover the path of least resistance, a comfort zone where maybe it's a T.S. Eliot existence - "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation" - but at least the bills are mostly paid, the tummy is fed and no one is threatening to take away our toys. And the dreams get hung up on the shelf.
Still ... still ... a little voice somewhere whispers, "You have bigger dreams than this. You wanted to do something important. You wanted to have a life more fulfilling than this!" So we decide to take a day or two to sort it all out. And instead we play video games, eat the bread and watch the circuses, and a day or two later it's back to the wage-slave job with nothing resolved.
I'm tempted to scream in frustration - but I'm in just the right mood to instead, look at this little beast who has grown up and lived a few decades and whom I've named B.W. Richardson, and I'm thinking: Isn't this guy's well-groomed inertia interesting? How long can he just sit here like this?
Oh, I congratulate myself: Becoming B.W. was actually a huge step. Do you know how long I thought about becoming someone like B.W.? Never mind, it was a while. And I'm having fun. But after reading and absorbing such important books as Do It! Let's Get Off Our Buts and How to Kill the Job Culture Before It Kills You - Look Ma, I'm still a wage slave!
What's the problem? Where's the disconnect? Hang on, I'm going to play a game of Free Cell and think about this ...
That one (#26620) was fairly easy - three aces lined up in a row there in the third row from the right, that helped big time. What! You thought I was kidding? OK, now that I've played true confessions, I think I'm going to go off and try thinking about the future again ... refusing to be afraid ... Gulp! Wish me luck!
posted by B.W. Richardson at
2:56 PM
2 Comments:
Actually, just the opposite, my concern for the household keeps me at the wage-slave job rather than take risks. That probably has saved me from some disastrous decisions while frustrating my "gotta get outta this job" instincts.
OMG you've described me to a T. Somehow both scary and (slightly) reassuring at the same time.
So, what's the solution?
Get back with me after my next game of Solitaire, would you?
cowardly lion
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