I Work in a Cube

"God will not look your over for medals, degrees or diplomas, but for scars."-- Elbert Hubbard

Gets me thinking (apologies). What is it that I live for? I like to believe that I'm a romantic, an adventurer, a risk taker. I like to believe that I'd be willing to throw caution to the wind, to take the bull by the horns, to...other applicable cliche. Trite romance novelisms aside, I like to believe that I would be willing to make sacrifices for the things I believe in, namely love, peace and hope. But would I? Perhaps in the answer to this question lies the secret of true fulfillment, true happiness.

I'm meeting with a financial advisor later this afternoon. He's put together a plan for me to follow that will ensure I have a comfortable retirement. In forty years I can look forward to driving a Cadillac Seville, owning a nice lakeshore property, and dragging myself around with a gold-plated walker. I feel like a sellout.

We live in a culture that, I apologize for being crude, has castrated us (men and women alike). We seek comfort, stability, ease. The American dream is a Ford Taurus and a sweater vest (no offence to anyone with a penchant for either - the Taurus is a reliable automobile and the sweater is a practical article of clothing). I just want to know what the hell happened.

I work in a cube. It has walls, but no ceiling. They put a tree next to it so that if I blur my vision I start to feel like I'm outside. Is this what I was created for? To provide concise technical documentation telling engineers what tests to run so that a major corporation can make enormous amounts of money without getting sued?

This isn't what America's founding fathers fought for, this isn't what mothers and fathers want for sons and daughters, and I have a hard time believing this is what God wants for us. Let's take some risks. We will get hurt, battered, scarred, tired, and we will all most assuredly die, but we will do so knowing that we were, at one point, truly alive.