Since transferring back to the Sedona
store, I have to admit I've been grappling with the green monster.
Serving people who seem to have unlimited resources while I, at the
age of fifty four, still have to fight for every penny has just kind
of gotten under my skin a little bit. It's not that I envy their
wealth or the trapping of said wealth. I get out of my 15 year old
pickup with 190,000 miles (that I'm still making payments on) and
stroll by the BMWs, Lexuses, Mercedes and Range Rovers on my way into
the store without a second glance. I do, however, resent their causal
sense of entitlement. The idea that I have money so I get what I
want, when I want it, the way I want it and inconvenience will not be
tolerated rubs me the wrong way. Sometimes its like we don't even
live in the same reality.
I cannot even comprehend walking into a
store, any store, and just buying whatever the hell I feel like
without calculating the cost.
Yeah, it's been bugging me. I work my
f@%&*ing ass off and I can barely pay my bills while some the
privileged housewives I deal with on an day to day basis has never
worked a day in their life. It leads to resentment. To
miscommunication. To... I don't know, what's the antonym for empathy?
I'm sure I'm not alone. Income inequality in this country has never
been higher. Upper management looks down the company ladder from
their office suites and see nothing but shit. The workers look up and
see nothing but assholes.
Welcome to America 2015.
Yeah, since coming back to Sedona, I've
been in a position of semi-management, taking over for the meat
manager on his days off and vacation, running the cutting room,
ordering and taking my share of blame from the new set of zealous
supervisors who are pounding on us because we're an “affluent”
store and need to be held to a higher standard (but no better pay of
course). I took over this job because, well, the company needed me.
It's no more money—in fact I haven't even got a cost of living
raise in eight years—but hey, thanks for helping out.
Anyway, I've been stressed, been working longer hours and well add in
the short days and the impending holiday grind and...
So I do what I do when I'm depressed. I
walk. We're not talking around the block here. We're talking filling
daybag with food for a day, a couple canteens of water and lighting
out. I have some favorite spots and on one particular day last week
day I chose one close by but still remote enough for some real
solitude—Lower Sycamore Canyon. It's a stunning little creek that
cuts through some of the most bizarre and unique geography you'll
find anywhere and it's just far enough off the grid (Sedona) that its
still feels like Arizona to me. Plus there was a storm moving in so
the place would really be deserted.
And so I walk. I start out fast. I want
to beat the storm, but also I have anger to burn. I stride into the
wilderness alone and with testosterone. Some guys lifts weights and
scream with rage. I hike. With attitude. Depending upon what kind of
funk I am in, the miles start to loosen me up. Sometimes it's a
couple. Sometimes it's eight. Or ten. Or twelve. But I've never ever
been in a funk deep enough that a walk doesn't loosen it. And sure
enough somewhere around the four mile mark, I realize I am having
fun. Damn it if I ain't f%^*ing happy.
I keep complaining that my body is
breaking down, that I come home from work a mental and physical
zombie. So tired I can't hardly feed myself. But it can't be the real
truth, it has to be mental, because my body is loving this strain. I
am flying over rocks, skipping across the stream crossings with ease,
jumping up the boulder steps and skipping off the ledges. The miles
are peeling away like paper.
By the time I reach the turn around
point at Parson's Spring, I have slowed down a little and am enjoying
the scenery. The silence is immense, the canyon is gorgeous and the
world is wide open. I no longer know why I was so stressed. This is
why I live here. This is why I “threw away” my education. This is
why I work a menial job that society judges is next to worthless. It
just doesn't matter. I don't own much, but I don't owe much. There is
little I want or need. At home, my family waits for me understanding
my need for solitude and space. Right now, right here, I'm moving
swiftly and gracefully through this heartbreakingly beautiful place
and I am the happiest man in the world. I cannot think of one place,
one thing I would rather be doing.
And that makes me the real one percent.
No comments:
Post a Comment