jueves, 19 de diciembre de 2019

An introvert's journey out and into the Void (micro essay) (thought)


The introvert is sitting again in bed with his laptop. He's a breathing cliché in some respects: jobless, wants to be a writer, doesn't really like going out of the apartment unless inevitably, and currently rethinks the decisions he's made in life. And that's all good and normal.

So far his job, a weird one that varies from living in little towns in the middle of nowhere to potentially be the head of a huge project and a huge team of people—, has consisted mostly of being surrounded by few people. Though sometimes, he gets asked to do the opposite and beyond for the job's sake. Compromises, I think they're called.

But the past years taught him conflicting lessons and thoughts. "I like so much being at home, sometimes cleaning, sometimes taking care of the cat —'cause, of course he has a cat, it's still 2019—, and usually procrastinating the writing of a novel that, like it's predecessor, only God knows when will it see the light of day". Of course, the lazy bastard like procrastinating, at least until he feels guilty about it, which is every other night.

The apartment is nice, in a great, pretty and calm neighborhood, away from the turmoil and noise of downtown. The view to the mountains and the cold air that blows in as soon as you open the window is chilling yet comforting.

But all of that, costs money. Everything is down to earning more money than you spend on living —and vices, obviously.

And so he wonders the course of action: get out, get a job, work with other people, maybe having to move once again to a remote location with no 4G or Wifi for three months, or getting a much worse paid job downtown, sort of climbing down the ladder, so he can help his partner with the rent, the food, and more importantly, the cat's food.

He thinks of this and decides that it's kind of been his own career's fault that he doesn't want to go back at it: it's demanding, it's better paid than most but not fairly, compared to the amounts of work and hours that end up being part of it, it lacks any kind of benefits, not even the minimum required by law, and actual dangers are a big part of it.

So he thinks of a third option, which, a little ironically, stems from one of his favourite means of procrastination: a lot of the internet content he has been consumig revolves around people changing careers and jobs, and entering what used to seem only like a trend: the world of entrepreneurship.

He thinks, "this doesn't look like a passing thing anymore, or an alternative for people who escaped awful jobs or had mental breakdowns or something". He ruminates and the best part of all the content he's consumed circles in his head, "maybe in today's world and economy, working for and by yourself is the answer, or at least, an answer".

He already knows the "it's hard but it's worth it" discourse. It's scary. It won't mean working all alone, it'll mean having to go interact with people by himself just to be able to..."to do what?", he asks himself, "sell, stuff? I've never known how to freaking sell stuff, nor I know what could I sell". And that's true. But he thinks he can do it, or ease his way into it, or partner up with people that he already knows. Aynthing. Something.

He's so tired of working for an institution that's, in almost every way possible, worse than working at a McDonald's or a Starbucks, that the mere thought of having to go back to, and even having to make sacrifices for it, like moving to other states, or into the middle of the mountains —no matter how pretty they are—, overwhelms him.

He decides he can make the stuff he wants, learn and improve what he doesn't know and push through the stuff that is not his cup of tea. He's not alone. He's got help. Not from everyone, but there're friendly hands all around. One of the good things that come from all those years of working around the country is that: friendships and acquaintances almost everywhere.

Also, he thinks and tries to push through Resistance, to keep writing. Because all this looking inwards and pondering has shed a tiny ray of light into one small but solid truth. Even when confused or disappointed in the things he has done and studied for, writing —and reading— seems to have been the constant, the foundation, the theme in the arc of his own story.

And understanding as he does know that life itself is a narrative arc, he thinks the turning point is at hand, and that the tribulations will arrive and will be difficult, but at the end, he will traverse through the Void, into the Unknown, and will come back home with the gifts, and the knowledge, and, specially, with a mastery, if partial, of his own fears.

Instead of closing the laptop and going out, he starts, finally, to put it to good use.

The top image is taken from this etsy shop.

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