Thursday, March 18, 2010
Conceive man without thought.
I wonder about the careers people have. There are baseball players and actors, yes, who have the opportunity to do what they wish to do for however long they like. But the others, everyone else and their daily bread, is who I wonder about, and whether they were consciously chosen or were assumed out of necessity, either for family or for the disappointment of losing the paid pastime they would wish for. Not in the sense of being a six year old who wishes and wills to be a pilot when they grow up, but when they are that grown up, faced with the moment they have to really choose--yet can do so only when that choice is shortened and the very sense of choice disappears because what they, as adults, may have been hoping to do, have been needing to do, is disallowed. Suffocated from that wished for choice either by lacking qualifications or discrimination or whatever inability. Oh-for-six means that one's aging, dry hopes, sitting in a gravel mess, can but live only in embarrassment beside the fresh seeds around him being carried off by their warm winds. Those baseball players may say that there is always next year, but if, what if, there is not. And what does one do with a gravel mess but learn to become a stone himself.
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3 comments:
what if, scoot, one sees a myriad choices ahead but cannot, for even a million trillion dollars, decide what it is exactly the career should be. but instead, scoot, this person decides he or she will just wait and work a job for minimum wage in hopes the creativity that has always lived inside the chest and the skull will leap and bound and perhaps make it so no career ever really matters. but instead, scoot, a life devoted to the moment, to the possibility of one day never having to choose a career.
scoot, I've been into the wine.
for one minute, or maybe two, i forgot about the fear that has been plaguing me for the last few months.
after reading this, it has returned.
(the fear is graduating)
[this is sarah]
what if there was no choice outside of the possibility of cultivation? Instead of fresh seeds being carried off by the wind, they were planted with kind hands amidst the worms and grubs. Baseball players forget about the ground beneath their feet. They dig and prod and slide and wipe the dirt from their hands. Or maybe they just choke on astro-turf?
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