Recently, someone with whom I attended college received national recognition for a job well done. Those ingnorant of his history might interpret his work as "fresh;" however it is the same tired work he turned in more than twenty years ago. His work literally put me to sleep. When news of his award reached me, I involuntarily screamed, but quickly regained my composure and went on with my life.
This morning, while avoiding writing a paper on George Orwell, I entered a nearly forgotten name into a random search engine, only to discover that another soulless creation has risen to the top of his chosen vocation. Granted, he is now a vice president of marketing at Disney, and such success no doubt carries its own special black rewards. Still, I'd have been happier had I been told that he was toothless and living under a bridge.
That, I realize, makes me a shallow, vindictive prick. But the realization that my petty jealousy over the success of some of God's damaged children makes me also realize that I, at least, still have soul. Bruised and withering, but my soul is still mine. True, I freely admit I am not earning in the mid-six figures, nor am I in any danger of standing behind a podium thanking the little people; and I'd like to be able to point to some monumental success, but can't. Instead, at any given moment I can rattle off a long, long list of my social deficiencies. One need only look at my bank account to understand that professional success has eluded me.
Still, as I reflect upon my connection to these two individuals I am ambivalent. I can say that I envy their success, but I do not covet their exact success. I can only speculate what it cost them to get where they are. The first person never possessed a soul. Never. The second had a soul once, but I watched him sell it. While my "friend" was still in college, he took an older, financially generous gentleman as a lover. They lived together in an Old Town townhouse, one that allowed him to ride a gifted bicycle around the hallways, while he got his career off the ground -- and repaid his student loans. In less than a year this individual was debt free, and dumped his benefactor/lover. The gentleman was crushed. The Christmas following the break up, the gentleman presented the individual with a mountain of gifts with the simple request that my "friend" just not return them for cash. Of course, that is exactly what happened. Shortly after that I lost touch with my "friend." It became very clear that we two had very different values.
The last time I saw him we went to a party together. My friend and I waited tables together and it was a work Christmas party. After about an hour, my friend gave me a quick kiss good-bye. I called a couple of days, but knew he wouldn't return my call. A couple of years later we ran into each other on the train. We spoke briefly as I got off. And that was that.
The knowledge that I've kept my soul and my Mary-Haynes dignity is cold comfort as I sit down to write a pointless response paper to an essay that was written nearly sixty years ago, while these two receive wealth and accolades. I'm not even sure that the hope that future fortune awaits makes me feel better.
On to George...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment