c. 2024 Rod Ice
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(5-24)
“We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and – in spite of True Romance magazines – we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely – at least, not all the time – but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don’t see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness.”
– Hunter S. Thompson
One of the most perplexing things about my second marriage was when we reached the point where it became impossible to cover our monthly bills, even with drastic measures in effect. I had unexpectedly lost my job as a retail manager, after a company sale. This created a vacuum of sorts, as I also worked for a newspaper in Chardon, for sideline income. That labor alone would not feed my family. So, I went to interviews all over the tri-county area, submitted resumes, and eventually took a job with a second publisher of local news. Yet my weekly reward couldn’t match the amount earned before. There was only one solution to this dilemma – dumping assets and cutting costs for the household. That process put strains on our marriage, and proceeded forward in a haphazard and rough fashion. It was a frustrating exercise, not unlike trying to steer an automobile with flat tires and a sputtering engine.
Not being in control sent me over the edge. Both financially, and emotionally. Afterward, I vowed to never let myself fall into that chaotic state, again.
Years later, I was back to living alone and dependent on nothing more than my wits for survival. But having the controls in my own hands made all the difference. When another business sale found me kicked to the curb, and struggling, the bumpy ride was easier to tolerate. In part, because of previous experiences with that kind of calamity. Yet also due to the conservative nature instilled by a childhood of hardship and sacrifice.
I knew how to live a minimal lifestyle, but had never been skilled at getting others to see the light of that strategy. Flying solo meant that I didn’t have to convince anyone else.
Oddly, I received an epiphany of sorts as household funds dwindled, and I returned to old habits. Saving and scrimping and squeezing out extra meals with creations like beans on toast, noodle tacos, flatbread baked on a pizza pan, or fried bologna sandwiches.
I was happier and more hopeful, with nothing.
Chasing trophies in a workplace environment often left me feeling fatigued, and humbled by futility. I preached a prescribed dogma of effort and loyalty to employees who were under my supervision. But knew well that the axe might fall, if they were deemed to be expendable. Episodes of corporate membership magnified this conflict in my head. I saw firsthand that platitudes of olden days could go pale in the harsh light of modernity.
A familiar theme resonated at each pause on my journey. I had to be in control, or suffer the consequences of living as a serf. A cog in the machinery, faceless and anonymous. Useful to be sure, in that I projected a higher power which was, in truth, not vested in me or any of my subordinates. I served the purpose of a conduit. A trench flowing water. Or a cable delivering electric signals from an instrument to the amplifier. Membership in the proper group made me worthy. The proper class. In that case, those of us who had shown enough discipline and obedience to be charged with minding the store.
Compliments from employers sounded sweet to my ears. Yet now, I realize that when saying ‘Good boy!’ to my canine companions, at home, the effect is no different. Through an education of chance, I finally realized that freedom and responsibility are two sides of the same coin. The burden of being in control is a yoke that lies lightly upon my shoulders. Its weight is nothing compared to the heft of crosstalk and static from others, who ride the wagon as spectators, without ever putting their bootheels into the dirt.
I used to think that climbing the metaphorical ladder to prosperity was an activity founded in reason. The aspiration of studios folk who view life as something built on a foundation of faith in goodness, and the value of hard work. And indeed, some of those tenets remain. I still believe that my own determination will keep the stone rolling. But have scaled that ambition to succeed downward, into proportions that are humble and local. What I do for myself, what I create in this virtual space, what I whisper to the sunset while enjoying a cold brew, is all worthwhile.
I once tried to vocalize this outlook to a friend, who was lamenting his own voyage as a musician having been stalled by new trends in the industry. He confessed to feeling like a failure after spending months on a recording project. Something that was delightful to hear and share with others. I thought his attitude was unnecessarily harsh.
“You must have heard the phrase, ‘Make art for art’s sake’ at one point or another. That concept goes back to Paris apparently, in the 19th Century. There is something undeniably French about lifting up a creed of art justifying itself, without any other tangential attachment of politics or philosophy. It matters when a poet composes stanzas of verse. It matters when a painter interprets the sun and moon, and earth below. It matters when a singer adds her voice to the sounds of nature. Why, you ask? Because it does! That is what has propelled human beings throughout recorded history to etch slabs of rock, and carve logs, and build temples. Don’t you get it? Maybe it’s a Buddhist vibe, or perhaps a splinter of wisdom passed forward through the centuries, from Latin scholars. The notion must sound like madness to those that live on the social grid! But not to us, my guitar-plucking compadre. Not to us...”
I was never certain if he took my assertion to heart. Or if he understood the relationship between having control and using that privilege to speak freely and honestly. Without making excuses or offering justifications of any kind.
But I said it out loud. That alone was enough.
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