Why do anything except for the natural curiosity that led you to it? We live in a world where wanting to smell a rose must, in turn, lead to something. That it leads to something is irrelevant and often just luck; that anything ever leads to something happens all on its own. We must focus on smelling the rose, but first, we must focus on stopping to do it.
Lately, I have sat in a cafe where some seats are labelled to not be worked from, to sit and merely enjoy the food, the conversation; to do it, perhaps, to just do it. But every day when the crowd hits the tipping point, those tables are occupied en masse by those who have an important meeting to attend. There is an air of soft despondence when this happens, for all the so-called work is simply a struggle to meet the whims of a manager or some deadline that does not truly exist but was made to churn out as much life as possible from a person. And now, I often eavesdrop on the things that they say, as disheartening as it may be, and it is, indeed, disheartening. Entire lives wasted by the day, pasta gone cold, and coffee not savoured. All for the constant nag of corporate’s newest plans, their greatest pivots, their radical vision, and all of it, in turn, is so uninspiring and impotent. The need to work, the need to put food on the table, is not washed over me, no. I understand, perhaps better than many, if not most, the trouble we must go through to do it. But then, if the food is on the table, it might also merit enjoying it properly before we go back to work; it might make sense to sip the coffee before it gets cold. And to work, to work for hours, I reckon, to learn and keep learning, but to remember to do it without the added known consequence of it. To meet others simply to meet others. To take a walk simply to take a walk. To live simply to live. The burden of consequence is not ours to bear. It was thrust onto us by polluted books and misinterpreted industry—a word whose meaning has been lost to time, to colloquialism. What simply meant hard work now becomes a spokesperson for everything that is absurd. Perhaps that is what happens when words are claimed by trifolds handed on days of orientation. Their true meaning falls behind.
“This is how it happens in this industry.”
“What industry?”