A VULNERABLE PLACE

Opportunity obliges the soul's request for more.

I'm in a vulnerable place --no job and no immediate plans or ultimate desire to seek one. I'm not lazy or crazy but I am concerned. I know that it takes money to live. But I don't believe that getting a job will solve my problem, though it will ease my anxieties.

But once these settle I'll become as sour as I was before, probably more so. I know too much to retreat, at least I think I do. I know that God has sanctioned this season. I must have time to write. I'm convinced of it though I've tried to deny it, but I can't.

Still, whenever I open the mail I'm reminded of what I "should" be doing. Whenever I open my eyes in the morning and close them at night, I'm keenly conscious of my need for cash. Money, after all, controls. Everything serves its interest. For most of us this means that we only have a moment to prosper by our passion. Otherwise necessity usurps.

Unless we're single or insane we can't indulge our passion indefinitely. It costs too much and returns too little. Combine this with the advice of well-meaning friends and it's impossible for most people to endure such pressure. Ironically, however, this dilemma also contains its own solution.

Unlike the great, most people can't bear the burden of their reality. Thus the pressures that embolden these breaks them. So much, until they forsake their passion and compromise emotionally. Doing so temporarily, however, isn't wrong. It is, in fact, wise. But many, in leaving their passion, get trapped in a profession.

That's the problem. Like a book they buy intending to read, their passion remains on the shelf unopened by them and unread by others. Yet I understand. Pressure is real no matter how impassioned we are. That's why greatness is revered wherever it's revealed. Great pressure can only be subdued by an even greater passion.

FROM THE AUTHOR

Once I decided to write this book my frustration with work became fertile. Incidents that routinely annoyed suddenly inspired. Heeding the popular proverb, I decided to make lemonade with my lemon, which is what my job represented. So, rather than venting vainly I decided to record my anguish on these pages. Things that I usually said in passing would now be compiled for publication. Doing so made sense but I couldn't see it before. I was complaining anyway, so why not write? Why not compose my complaints and put them into print.

This book blossomed from my efforts. It differs from the philosophical stuff I normally write. At least I sought to make it so. I wanted these words to be a narrative, ranting revelations of insanity. So, I have restricted but not revoked my philosophical license. I have also struggled to be honest. Yet I am not always as disgruntled as I appear. I am by nature intense. I expect greatness of myself and of others.

Moreover, while writing I found myself wanting to be fired. I imagined casually leaving some of the more pungent pieces on my desk in hopes that my boss would see them. He would, inevitably, call me into his office for an explanation. I, of course, would have none, nor would I seek one. Like the kleptomaniac, I too wanted to be caught. But I never got fired because I couldn't convince myself to display these pages prematurely. Discretion discouraged this folly.

So here I stand for all to see (and censure). But that's okay, because I've reconciled the present and now embrace the future. In it, I will be released from work and pulled into my purpose. I will no longer let bills bully my talent. After all, if I don't fulfill my vision I'll spend my life fulfilling someone else's.