I had the best cubicle job in the world. Which is like boasting about being the world’s tallest midget.
I have nothing bad to say about the company within whose cube I labored. Great travel benefits (similar to this one from japankensingtontours.com/tours/asia/japan), interesting co-workers, good pay, dog-friendly work environment, flexible hours, plenty of emphasis on work-life balance, raucous parties and a nice dental plan. The cubicle itself, while windowless, was well-lit, roomy and had spongy walls where I could tack photos of all the places I’d rather be and things I’d rather be doing.
The only thing standing between the complete merger of myself and corporate bliss was that damn hourglass. You know the one. It measures and evaluates the roles we assume in life. We flip it over and begin the countdown with every new scenario: first dates, bad movies, at the DMV and of course, at work. When the sands run out, the audition is over. We must go all in or opt out. We must become our new selves or abort. Penalties may apply.
Mildly creative people like myself have a preordained, limited tolerance for such controlled environments. (For the record, really creative people seem to thrive no matter where you put them. They could find joy in scraping the gum off a bus station floor, those adaptable bastards). Had I a different vision for my life, one would say I had arrived. Yet, a nagging and restless sentiment voiced by a vaguely familiar provocateur was as persistent as a well-dressed devil on my shoulder. This rascally agent would smite my joy at a well-executed Excel spreadsheet, mock my enthusiasm for being a team player and downright ridicule my declaration that hitting some unfairly imposed deadline would be “no problem”. No matter how much Internet traffic was coerced to our website, no matter how robust our sales numbers jumped, I could never fully buy into those achievements with the same satisfaction I had in other things like climbing a mountain, teaching my dog to snag a frisbee mid-air or even flawlessly wrapping a burrito. I’d rate the satisfaction in my job on par with getting a birthday card from your car dealership in the mail. Nice, but impersonal.
When I decided to walk away from the job a year and a half ago, I mentioned to my boss that I may potentially be leaving the company. I explained my plan of phasing out my duties over a four month period. He did me one better and gave me four hours to get the phase out, and so I did.
It felt like I had been lured into a cult of idealistic weirdos, the kind of people who would trade in the car they just won for whatever was in the mystery box. Only the mystery box had some of its contents already known: a smattering of unemployment checks, months of acid-producing stress, repeated calls from indifferent and hostile credit card companies and a ticket to an even less friendly future cubicle. I had to ante up precious commodities such my immune system and the integrity of my bones, since any medical emergency while I “find myself” pretty much meant financial ruin. It would be entirely irresponsible if it wasn’t for the hard data correlating real joy and fulfillment with the daring suggestions of that aforementioned provocateur.
It’s a beautiful risk. I love writing, not just for my own consolation but for the connection. Words can be devastatingly handsome, fiercely athletic and invigoratingly inspiring. Thus the enterprise which is now afoot, Mountainous Words. I’ve assembled a small team of incredibly talented people who are sure to amaze you with their words, images and ideas – I know I’ve been impressed. For my own part, I hope to put together some quality guidebooks to help you forge your own adventures and just maybe, tell a few stories along the way that will get us thinking, dreaming and moving.
So today, the hourglass is flipped. Time will tell if it’s a fast drain. Or perhaps something will render the hourglass ineffective and timeless, because, you know, that can happen.
Just not in a cubicle.