As I sat in traffic coming from an interview out on one of Saturn’s rings yesterday, I realized something.
More like a reminder, really.
I suddenly understood why so many people have drinking problems and recalled why I myself used to consistently enlist the assistance of valium to survive another night on earth as we know it. I mean, Jesus. When I was working outta the home before, I had it pretty good: close to where I live, lots of light shining in, not sitting at a desk all day, remaining active, helping gimps regain mobility. It’s the reason I wanna become a PTA, ultimately. Even that near-perf setup managed to do me in a bit – the grind is the grind (#amIriteladies). This place I interviewed at – albeit far away – ain’t too bad either.
But most people don’t even get those highlights on their career path:
They take the one, first-offered, safe, thing and don’t look back – making it totes opposite of the setup I’ve actively sought out: you drive into the city to sit in a shitty office sarcophagus behind venetian blinds that chronically block out any shred of daylight. By the time you emerge (round these parts at least), for several months outta the year, it’s gonna be in darkness – so that’s depressing. For the rest of the months of the year, you’re gonna emerge to realize how effing gorgeous it was outside all day – and that you missed the whole thing. And that you’re gonna again tomorrow. And by the time the weekend comes, you’ll be so used to burning the meaning of your life away inside a misery kiln, that your motivation to leave your bed or couch might just be nonexistent. I get that. It’s the reason I never wanted to go on vacation. It’s like a temporary escape into a fantasy world. I went away to Myrtle Beach once for a week with an ex. It was, like, this peak experience. I’ve never felt so happy and in adoration of someone as I did with him during that time. It was heaven. Then, we came back. It was raining, depressing, and suddenly we transformed into mismatched convict cellmates (I can’t recall the nature of the argument-ignition-switch for sure – but one of us definitely threw steak at my wall; I still can’t get the stain out). My point is that I myself don’t do well with visiting nirvana – because returning to average everyday life after that suddenly feels like a punishment. And, while I had it relatively good (except for the fact that I feel like all of society needs a reboot so that none of us have to slave eight hours a day), it kinda isn’t fair. We’re human beings. We were made for balance – both physically and practically. We’re not meant to spend most of the day doing just one thing. We’re not meant to sit in front of screens killing our vision and sleep/wake cycles. And we’re definitely (as the start of this article indicates) not meant to spend an hour each way to and fro those former things that we’re also not intended to do, sat on wheeled fume factories injecting a steady stream of poison fumes into our lungs.
Small wonder so many people wanna head to happy hour after work.
If I didn’t have my own DIY tools and had I not acquired a “I like keeping control over my own body” preference this past year and some change, I’d’ve headed right back into that life myself, more than likely. I feel sorry for these folk who are so acclimated to the woe rotation that it seems inconceivable to do anything else except liquefy the discontent every day after work. Who has the emotional energy after that to even gather up the self-awareness that’d tell you: “I can change my story. I don’t hafta live this way. I can apply for another job” after a day like that? Not most people. I’m so lucky to have been gifted with shit like yoga and meditation. ‘cause I’ve never found any life answers at a shot glass’s bottom before. Chemicals prevent clarity and Firewater just shakes up my Snowglobe of anxiety, ultimately.
To let the flakes tranquilly settle, we must never settle for small lives.
I’mma keep interviewing, I think.