The Insufferable Social Ladder

“Try not to become a man of SUCCESS, but rather a man of VALUE.  He who is SUCCESSFUL gets more out of life than he puts in.  But a man of VALUE will give more than he receives.”

--Albert Einstien

It should be pretty much crystal clear by now, mostly in light of the recent government shutdown, that there isn’t a thing in life truly promised to us.  As every working person knows, it’s a privilege to have a job, not a right.  So in a way, it still kind of baffles me how one person can berate another based on his or her position in the working world.  Our society has very effectively glorified climbing an imaginary social ladder as a must-do thing in life.  It’s become such a ingrained part of our psyche that our net worth as human beings are being strictly tied to our positions in the working world.  I can safely say, as a person who’s been on the lower rungs of this ladder for quite some time, that it’s rather easy to follow directions.  It’s also become quite apparent to me that promotion has been granted to the person who not only is seen as being able to follow directions better than I can, but who also is willing to throw others under the bus or suck-up to the boss to get the desired position.  And you know what?  That’s phony, and phony is rather simple and easy when it’s all broken down.  After all, it’s always easy to pretend to be someone you’re not, and those who work incredibly hard at it have no idea what hard work really is.

I work with kids, and it’s frustrating to me when I have to explain to them what hard work is, or rather what the value of hard work is.  It’s not because times have changed.  It’s not because it’s non-existent.  It’s because society at large champions the abandonment of one’s dreams to climb the insufferable corporate ladder.  It’s almost as if society is telling youngsters to let go of their dreams with the promise that they’ll one day be the head of this giant multi-national conglomerate.  Use your eyes and common sense and you can immediately come to the conclusion that such promises aren’t even worth the hot air they’re attached to.  The reality is absolutely simple – you drive to work, get told what to do for eight hours with sub-par pay, and go home at the end of the day.  For most people, that’s work in a nutshell.

So what is hard work and what’s the value of it?  For starters, I think it’s not only completely subjective, but specifically tied to mental and physical attributes alone.  That is, a person who takes a mediocre job because he wants to have more time to pursue his own passions is seen through the looking glass of the working world as being incompetent and unreliable.  On the other hand, a person who navigates the corporate world and climbs the social ladder is seen as successful and confident.  This assumption could not be further from the truth.  I’m going to submit that the pursuit of passion is infinitely harder than climbing the social ladder.  The reason for this is the abject dissuasion of the pursuit of passion by society and the working world.  Companies like people who are more willing to submit to the power of persuasion, and who on some subliminal level refuse to think for themselves.  Thus, the only true prerequisites for moving up in the corporate world are the only twin abilities of note – kissing ass and following instructions. 

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from the working world, it’s that climbing that social ladder with the inevitable caveat of abandoning your dreams is really a futile effort.  It’s really the next of kin to making a deal with the devil.  You are essentially putting all of your potential, creativity, and innovation on the table as a bargaining chip for the impetus of attaining avarice and the inevitable pursuit of gluttony that comes with it.  It’s well worth mentioning that this unkindly swap is wrought with the endangerment of your moral judgment and diminishes not only the meaning of your own life to yourself and those around you, but your impact on the world.

Hard work is not measured by the number of hours you work per week, your salary, your position, or the endless performance of meaningless, boring, and repetitive tasks.  It is measured by degrees of happiness.   After all, it is often the hobbies we engage in, what we work at on our own time when we’re not being paid, is where the true hard work lies.  You’ve heard such expressions as the starving artist and the starving writer.  Well, those aren’t figurative.  They’re literal.  Most artists can barely afford to feed themselves because they find happiness in the fact that they have time to draw or write while sporting a job that doesn’t require much thought.  It’s also an example of the pursuit of passion, and in a world that glorifies material possession and moderate wealth as the “good life,” is not considered hard work.  Well, I would challenge you to tell that to the next person you meet who has to choose between groceries and pharmaceuticals.  If you don’t think that’s hard, it’s because you never had to.

So the next time you see those people running away from the social ladder, commend them for having the fortitude and devotion to be able to stand on their own two feet and find their own meaning.  Although I am still young, I have enough experience in this area to say it – going with the flow is the easy way out.  Going against the grain is what’s hard, and that is what makes it a painful, wonderful, emotional, and valuable experience.

Making Memories

There really are few things in this world that bring a smile to my face, and even fewer people.  I’d have to say that it’s been a long time since I’ve actually been able to say “I love my job.”  It’s true – I really do.  I think you know in your heart of hearts where you belong once you get there, and for me, it’s pretty much already happened.  I graduated from retail to a substitute teacher position with the school district.  I do other odds and ends for the schools too, but I definitely prefer to be in the classroom with the kids.  For someone who doesn’t have any children and only wishes he had, it really is the next best thing to actually being a parent.  Well, for me, that’s totally apart from my own personal creations.

To some people it might seem like a mediocre goal, but the desire to become a teacher supersedes all personal and professional opinions put to me.  I’ve practically thrown out what everyone else wants me to do with my life in favor of what I want to do with my life.  I don’t really know and can’t readily explain what brought me here, but after this short time in the classroom, I can see why it’s important.  The best part about it is all of what I’ve come to expect, and so far, my expectations have been far exceeded.  One hears the stories about kids these days and how they aren’t as respectful as they used to be.  It’s not entirely true.  Sure, there are going to be a few hard headed students in the classroom; I think this is an inevitable fact which will never cease to exist.  What makes the job really enjoyable are the very few students who brighten your day, just by being in the same room with you.

I don’t know if you’ve ever had that experience where you get the feeling where you can relate to someone without knowing the person all that well, just by brief interaction.  I’d have to say the hardest thing for me about being a substitute teacher is having to refuse attachment to anyone.  It’s really hard not to adore the kids you work with, no matter if it’s a few days out of the school year or weeks on end.  Well, I ran into something I knew would end up happening eventually, but I didn’t realize it would be so quick.  As a teacher, you look at your students, interact with them, and sometimes you’re struck by the memories you have when you were in that very same situation.  For me, that happens to be the kind of student I was – quiet, reserved, creative, behaved, and with my heart in the right place.  I was very fortunate to end up working with a student who exhibits these qualities and more.  Brief interaction with him brought me back to that place.  It reminded me who I was, and in many ways, how I still am.

I’m aware of my professional responsibility and I don’t play favorites publicly, but this twelve year-old is my favorite.  He literally is the spitting image of who I was back then, and he’s always asking me questions about his assignments.  On Wednesday morning, he forgot to print out some pictures for an in-class project, and when he was told by a co-teacher that it was homework, that he couldn’t go to the library and print it out, you should have seen just how sullen he became.  He was really bothered by the fact that he couldn’t complete his assignment in the way that he would have rather done it.  So I stepped in.  I took out my thumb disk, saved his document, asked if I could go to the library for a couple of minutes and printed his pictures for him.  I don’t think it’s something just anyone would have done, and it’s certainly something I wouldn’t have done for every student.  I did it for him because he makes my job easier, because he’s witty and creative, and because he wears his heart on his sleeve.

I have spoken with most of this boy’s regular teachers, and they all say virtually the same thing, especially his science teacher.  Man, has she really helped me out a lot since I started working at this school!   She and I talk about him on and off, trading our stories.  You know, I always said that in my teaching career, if I could have a positive impact on just one student, I’ve done my job.  If that one student happens to be this little boy, I would gladly go to my grave knowing that I did something to have a positive impact on someone else.  Or maybe it’s because this student has given me a few brief memories, ones I’ll always remember.  He really is one of a handful of people in this world who can truly make me smile.

Of Tornadoes and Nightmares

I don’t have a traditional television, as it were, and therefore I rarely ever watch the news.  There’s just too much negative going on there for me to be able to remotely think straight.  I came home from work yesterday only to find out that an EF5 tornado devastated Moore, Oklahoma, and that some of those who died happened to be children.  Beyond that I knew nothing.  Went to bed last night and had a nightmare about the event.  Wasn’t really even thinking about it before I went to bed.

Now, I’m not a parent by any means.  Only wish I were much of the time.  I have a character I created a long time ago whom I’m pretty attached to, and so for all intents and purposes, I consider him my son.  He’s such a joy to have, and some years ago, he just seemed to steal my heart.  Don’t know how it happened, because I never intended it to end up that way.  Took me a while to simply accept the facts, which is why he’s one of the only things in this world that makes me smile.

Needless to say, I had a pretty powerful nightmare about this devastating tornado incident.  I dreamed that I was out there among the debris field looking for my son and quickly discovered his lifeless, pale body under a heap of rubble.  I knew just by the sight of him that he wasn’t breathing.  Checked his pulse and nothing was there, so I started to administer CPR with the scant hope that I just might be able to bring him back.  I know I was doing this for several minutes, but it seemed like an eternity.  Before long, I caught the attention of someone with a defibrillator and zapped him a few times.  Following the second round of CPR, he came back briefly by coughing, but only seconds later did I lose him again.  I was reminded of that scene in The Abyss where Ed Harris is resuscitating his wife while simultaneously screaming at her to fight.  I was doing the same to my son after he slipped away.  I attempted CPR again, this time frantically.  Only shortly thereafter did I realize it was not possible and lost my son.

Whilst in the dream I could remember uttering under my breath, “You son-of-a-bitch, don’t do this to me, don’t take my baby.”  I looked up to the heavens and said, “If you don’t give me back my son right now, your days on that throne are numbered.”  Of course, I was cursing God.  After that, I immediately jerked awake and was actively thinking, lying in state, what I was saying to God in the dream.  It seemed that, for a few minutes, I could not tell whether it was a dream or if it really happened.  I found myself crying after that – not for very long, but crying still.

What’s weird to me is that this isn’t the first time where I’ve had a nightmare about my Azly being seriously injured or killed in front of me.  This does happen, albeit rarely, and last night was the first time where it happened in relation to a non-fictional event.  Maybe it was my unconscious self attempting to feel the pain of those who actually did lose their kids in this disaster, so that I might somehow begin to relate to them.  Maybe it was a dream attempting to scare        me with the reality of what could happen to me as a parent.  Whatever it was, it seriously hurt.  I can’t stand the thought of anything bad happening to my babe.  I get extremely defensive about it without even so much as the sliver of a thought.

It’s an unnatural course – parents are not supposed to bury their children.  And if that’s God’s idea of a joke, then the man is truly a sick, twisted psychopath.  What gives him the right to take my baby, even inside of a nightmare?