Artistic Differences

Good things came out of my job. Despite everything.

I learned very small yet helpful tricks. The easiest way to remove seeds from a lemon slice. Being unsure instead of not knowing. The beauty of setting active screen corners on a Mac.

I re-learned how important it is to remember the people behind the curtain. The people pulling strings, making calls, cutting paper, scrubbing crevices, moving furniture, picking a single paperclip off the floor; working elbow deep in filth to make something (or someone) appear wonderful. And how important it is, when confronted with something perfect, to remember all the chaos it must have taken to make that perfection possible. And I was reminded that this is the wrong kind of simplicity.

I learned that I have a much higher tolerance for indignation than I'd previously thought, and that probably I could do just about anything. There was a moment yesterday when I felt I could walk out into a street, stretch out my hand, and actually stop a train if I'd been asked to.I am both validated and unsettled by this.

I learned the small tragedy of doing a good job without knowing it.

One of my exit-interview questions asked if there was something that could have been done to make me stay. It was scripted, but the question had been asked to me in earnest earlier that week. Things had been offered to me. No one begged, but in hindsight I did have a lot of power. I have learned that I don't want that kind of power. I don't want to bend things to fit me, I never want to scream, cause a scene, I never want to force people to look behind the curtain. I want them to have the humanity to do it on their own. When they don't it makes me sad. Not angry. Not self-righteous. Just quiet and subdued.

I see. I say to myself.

I have been reminded of class. Both sorts: "class" in the caste-system sense and in the behavioral sense. I am reminded to my dismay that both are real, alive and well. And they are certainly not the same.

I struggle with feeling epic.

I know I'm supposed to feel epic, but I just don't. For now we could blame it on the tired, the mental fatigue, the sore back and the blisters and the relief that I'm done. My mind wanting only to be right here, focusing only on the simplest things. The correct kind of simple.