Into the Vortex

Hello again, it's me.

I'm pretty sure those are lyrics to some forgotten song, but the song escapes me at the moment. Then again, a lot of things escape me these days. No, I'm not losing my mind or my memories. I've simply spent most of the last four years chasing a few narrow interests while gladly bringing plenty of old garbage out to the curb.

Since we last met high in The Cheap Seats in the fall of '14, the Big 5-0 came and went (more smoothly than expected), my children are grown and gone (each conveniently and coincidentally anchored in Boston), I became a home-furnishing DIY addict, grew to appreciate the taste of a really good Old Fashioned and wrote a book.

If you're thinking I have a lot of free time on my hands (or a drinking problem), I can confidently say "no" to both. I just got tired of waiting for life to be "just right" before trying new things, potential failure be damned. Trust me, I haven't surrounded my home with custom furniture-quality DIY pieces, nor have I written a book that will make people forget To Kill a Mockingbird. I just got tired of telling myself, "Someday, Eric. Someday."

Which brings me to a subject that has festered in my mind ever since: w-o-r-k. Work is never "just right" and it's so overrated. Not a bombshell, I know. We all jokingly say this from time to time after a shitty day. Alright, a shitty week. Ok, a shitty month. Occasionally, a shitty year.  

I don't mean work is overrated in its importance. Anyone who's ever been unemployed knows the sinking feeling that goes with it. Besides, how else would we afford the latest generation smartphone or even larger (is it possible) flat screen TV? Not to mention those pesky little necessities like, food, water and shelter. 

Instead, I'm talking about work as a means of self-identity. God help me if the first noun people ever associate with yours truly is teacher. I get it, some people do define themselves by their careers (and good for them, truly). They have an all-consuming passion that doesn't apply to most of us and are lucky enough to make money doing it. We, the nameless millions, on the other hand, generally feel good about what we do, have more good days at work than bad, appreciate being useful, but are always glad when Friday arrives.

Unquestionably, the rise and preeminence of social media in daily life has fed this self-identity beast. Don't get me wrong, I am all for celebrating professional success online and advertising your business, but the kind of Facebook posting and Instagram sharing that is tinged with a "my job is my life, hear me roar" martyrdom makes me gag. This faux earnestness has got to be a facade for something, be it a deep-seated inferiority complex or a cloying need to let others know you're the star in your own life story (duh). So you're a (insert job title here), get over it. None of us are that important and almost all of us are replaceable in the daily 9 to 5 (a liberating thought when you accept it). Workplace-related posts liberally sprinkled with words like empowerment and gratitude and journey to describe someone's multi-level marketing gig feel as fake as the plastic christmas tree I almost bought last year (and should have). Give me a good dog meme on Facebook or a cat video on Instagram any day of the week.

Who knows, maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there. But I don't believe that, not really. Besides, I think you see them too. And it drives us both just a little nuts, that and the highly filtered pictures of millenials thwacking away on their MacBooks at the corner coffee shop, "working." 

Clearly I haven't brought all the old garbage out to the curb yet. Which means it's good to be back.