Waiting for the End of my Term in the Big Green Monastery
I sat down with a calculator and estimated that I have worked 15,350 hours at Starbucks. It feels like the last week of a jail term. Perhaps indentured servitude is a little closer to the truth.
People could say, and they'd be right, that it's no one's fault but my own that I've worked so many hours at shitty jobs (Big Green chief among them). I suppose if I were more entrepreneurial and daring, I would have started a successful career long ago. But I might also be an asshole who doesn't know how to enjoy life. I've met a whole hell of a lot of people in those thousands of hours of customer service, and more than a few of them were unhappy. Many were people who made a lot of money but were over their head in debt from living beyond their means in Southern California. Some were unhappily married. Many were trying to impress everyone but themselves. Quite a few simply seemed to be rotten assholes and nothing more.
Perhaps it's an oversimplification, but I'll state it anyway because it suits my purpose: an ambitious, successful person is unlikely to be someone who bakes bread, takes two hours to make pasta sauce, enjoys hour-long Bruckner symphonies or has a lot of well-seasoned iron cookware. I'm probably wrong; I don't know. I'm a slow-moving, eccentric old fart. I was just never smart enough to get rich doing the things I love to do for recreation. Perhaps some day. I will likely never be rich, but I won't have to buy a sportscar to amuse myself. I will buy interesting bottles of scotch and cookbooks, however.
Money does not buy happiness, but it sure as hell does come in handy.
2 comments:
Old fart! good one.
I'm sure many of those unhappy people you mention think they're happy, but don't have a clue other than some vague, empty feeling that can't be filled with shopping or more hours at the office.
Your perspective is the right one for a life well-lived and it is definitely the right one should you be blessed with children some day.
Success, and conversely failure, can be defined in many ways. A friend (and former boss) here is extremely successful by the corporate standard of measurement. He's way up the ladder, makes gobs of money, has a beautiful house. And he works 14 hours every day, has to parrot the corporate party line, looks like he's aged 10 years in the last 2, and his (spoiled) kids are growing up without him. Would I trade places? God no.
Your brother Scott stole mine.
Anyway, having gazed for years into the vacuity of the eyes of the average Starbucks customer, I would tend to agree.
I, at one point, considered the military. Some acquaintances told me that there was no way I'd survive there. They got it all wrong. You've got it right. We are capable of just about anything--but there are consequences. The fourteen hour day and I are no strangers--but I manage to maintain my soul in what I do.
You'll be fine.
M.
Post a Comment