Maybe it was because I had only eaten a granola bar for lunch,.....maybe it was a slight change in the weather that made my sinuses feel like a coal mine… maybe my sleep had been deprived the night before and my mind was on hiatus… it doesn’t really matter, all that matters was how I handled it, and under the circumstances, I think I nailed it.
Let me back up, I have worked full time for over a decade. I’m not complaining, it’s just a fact. In that time I have learned reams of life experience, been able to move ahead, and eventually understand what is worth the precious time we have in life and what is not. Working to pay my electric bill? Sure, I like having hot water; working to pay down a card maxed out on an overpriced sofa that no one else’s ass has touched? Eh, not my thing. Perhaps that precarious staircase that led me down into my 30’s was not so scary after all. I think it’s opening up to a new scope, where I know what I want in life, what I am willing to work for, fight for, and most importantly, let go.
So, with a million other problems, knowing one more may push me to fly right over the cuckoo’s nest, I had a choice to defend what’s important, or play the passive role again.
During said mental status, leading up to a tawdry discussion with my boss, I took my emotions and herded them into a pen, making sure every last one was locked up, not allowing the assholes to leap out and trample a hard, negotiating dialogue. I stood like an oak, and didn’t get pushed into a canal full of yes-men as usual. The main argument brought to the ever-decreasing-in-perks table of my job, was my time…somehow, in some way, this gig that keeps my lights on, needed more time from me… time to be spent with my family, or painting, or picking at my split ends- which, somehow, I can do for hours.
I left feeling empowered, but also trapped. One victory means nothing if the fighting cause isn’t your first priority. The dismal gratification of speaking my mind and not taking any bullshit, quickly wore off and within a day, I was left with the rising feeling that this may have been one of many more fights to the death for my well-being in a work-life balance.
I did what I usually do, I let my emotions come bursting out of their pen to this exact place at my keyboard while I listened to a playlist that varied from angry to soothing, in order to keep pace with my thoughts.
When a forgotten but timeless ‘Working Class Hero’ popped up, I was clarified of the aim I should take my life to. The trade-off for having this shit I don’t need is senseless; the illusion of middle class, the cascades of bills on my kitchen table, the cars we convinced ourselves were fundamental to adulthood, the slow whirring drain of years slipping into a house that’s too damn big anyway.
It seems like our society has raised us to veneer our life stages with prediction. One step to another, and if it’s done out of order, or not to completion,.. you’re a failure. As Lennon puts it:
“When they've tortured and scared you for twenty-odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be”
Precisely. Our whole childhood leads up to this moment of supreme decision making at 18 and we are shuffled into higher education, at a price that most retirees aren’t willing to spend on an empty nester condo. It’s either that prodigious investment, or you’re left behind, to squalor in the meek opportunities allowed for those unable to spend into the system. This is broken, yet I feel so many people I know actually believe it. Don’t get me wrong, higher education is a necessity for humans to evolve into a greater species, I would never rebuff the requisite for further learning, but the painful truth is that it comes at a price, especially if done at such a confusing time, before we are even allowed to vote. The rest of our paths are molded to complete the harmonious poise of a professional career, a legally binding union with the perfect partner, biological reproduction within a reasonable time and purchase of all the accessories that make America so damn great, right? After paying down student loans, weddings, pre and post-natal care, we still need that brand new car lease, that down payment for the walls around us, the new bed set, cookware, lawn furniture and quippy doormat. So when we have reached the peak of economic and social standards, we are then expected to play happy and keep those capitals paid down, arrogant enough to think that nothing may trip-up those plans. Some succeed in this system, with, or without family support along the way. However, it’s still a gamble and what we end up with is a cold stack of account numbers and forcing a good attitude when picking up overtime to pay them off.
I am now standing at the eyeline of the limb that bifurcates left and right: to continue the path of full time employment, keep paying down credit, only to replace it for the next demand, or, begin the passage to freedom… start purging my life of possessions and begin the hunt for modest living, minimal materials and ultimately total privilege of time. I see nothing incorrect about living for your best life and if that includes employment and a mortgage, good for you. The beauty of our system is choice, the sordid reality is capacity to reach for those dreams.
We are taught to fear everything, from strangers in a van, to the lack of a steady paycheck. We fear what others think of us, whether we are accepted by co-workers, friends and family; if we have enough by our developed world archetype to prove to our parents that we made a better life than they had; to provide a legion of standards for our children to exceed, through stress and exhaustion, just to win the game of competition among their peers, setting off the same cycle. I’m ditching that ethos. Perhaps in a few years, you’ll find me living in a tent, washing my clothes in the river and making squirrel stew, maybe. If that is what it takes to give my whole self to my family, health and purpose to create, then throw a beanie on me and give me your empty soda cans.
Perhaps I am alone in this philosophy, but I doubt it. I see younger generations becoming more nomadic and enlightened, unwilling to be charmed by the empty promises of commercialism. I hope we can make it there and free ourselves of these manufactured designs of life.
I’ll end with the simple last verse of WCH, to which we all should step back and examine the honesty it still holds, almost 50 years after it was written:
“Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and classless and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be”
Stay true and stay unstuck.