Flier power

“I can’t believe they pay me to do this!” My computer genius friend from college had come down to Silicon Valley, with hundreds of others just like him. The nerds converged there to get paid. Paid to do what they used to pay universities to let them do!

They worked long hours, not leaving for meals and sleeping in their cubes when the deadlines loomed.

Heady times.

I never slept in my cube. And I knew the lure. I felt the headwind of push and rush and look what I can do!

I can do all this! Amazing–to do something I never dreamed I could. I made that! I made that happen! I can do it again.

Until I am doing it and not doing anything else. Twelve hours a day and still behind schedule.

But look at what I am doing! I am so good at this! I am doing what I never dreamed I could!

In our dreams we all know we can fly. And in my waking hours I flew. Until I woke up to realize I couldn’t. Not like this.

I saw the ground coming up at me. I had to make a landing as soon as I could.

It was my fault. Except I had plenty of help to self-destruct.

What am I talking about? It was just a job.

People say it all the time: You can’t let a job be that important.
They don’t know what they are talking about. This job gave me wings! I could fly when I got there.

Like my friend said, those twenty years ago. I can’t believe they pay me for this.

They do. They do and they never stop asking for what I can give. Somehow, they don’t care about the sustainability of the flying I do for them.

I am an exploitable commodity. I forget that in the intoxication of my own possibilities.

Maybe those cautionaries do know what they are talking about when they say don’t let it get so important.

This career landscape is where I learned what I was capable of. My first. I won’t forget my first time stretching to do more than I thought possible.

It was me, though, not the environment. I did that. I know how. When I remember that, the job can be a lot less important. What I love about my job is really what I love about me.

I figured it out. I will always know how to fly.

[the events this article alludes to are fictionalized in The Parable of Miriam the Camel Driver. Download the story today!]http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B005O54AS4/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?qid=1430433151&sr=8-1&pi=AC_SX110_SY165_QL70&keywords=the+parable+of+miriam+the+ca


We finally got to the tiger trail at the wild animal safari park. We’ve been there so many times, and always the kid conks out before we get to the tigers.

She’s getting older though. THis time, we went further than ever before. As we entered the tiger trail, there was a statue of a tiger, looking very ethnic from wherever it was from. The striped tiger face looked like a demon. Scary! But we had nothing to be afraid of. These tigers were safely in cages

They are big kitties, right? Sleeping in the sun, flicking their tails. Oh look! That one is licking his paw. Let me see if I can get a photograph of his tongue.


Then he turned his face right towards me.

I saw it. I saw the terrifying demon face of a tiger. I saw what that imitation of an imitation of tiger art was hinting at.

a human being never wants to see a tiger face. That is the end of life and this striped demon tiger looking right at me through the glass was a brush with my abject powerlessness.

Then he went back to licking his foot.

I still remember. He’s not a kitty