My Job: A Summary Through Similes

My job not only demands biting your tongue idiomatically, it's like biting your tongue literally.  

You chew flawlessly every day.  The jaw goes down, the jaw comes up, your teeth meet, rinse & repeat.  You perform this task hundreds, thousands, even millions of times without incident or acknowledgment.  But, the one little time you slip up your body will not let it go unnoticed.

"Nice job, dummy.  You screwed up."

Never mind all the days and all the times you did everything correct.  Never mind your 99.9% average chewing success rate.  No appreciation there.  No, the only thing that matters is when performing this one particular bite, this one particular time, on this one particular day, you failed.

And, it's very important to make you wince and feel the throbbing so you won't repeat that .1% behavior again.  Because that .1% is overshadowing the 99.9% and killing business.

My job is like meals at a restaurant.

I have a friend who use to say it's always more fun to experience the magic than it is to create it.  It's true, isn't it?

For my mom's birthday every year we would go out to dinner.  And, every year my mom would push away from the table and contend, "That was delicious.  And the best part is, I didn't have to make it or clean it up."

All we see is pretty food on a plate.  All we taste is yummy on our tongue.  We don't see the years of education, and the hours of labor--the chopping, slicing, marinating, deboning, mixing--the slaving over a hot stove all day, and the sinks of suds and grime.  All we see is the appetizing part; the pretty picture; the flower when it's in bloom.

Every year thousands of tourists patron Holland to see the tulip festival.  Visitors marvel at the magnitude, the beauty, and the design, but months before almost no one is around to bend their back and get their knees dirty digging holes and planting bulb after bulb.

Sometimes people say to me, "You must have the best job in the world."  Not exactly.  On its most gracious days it's a half hour tulip festival followed by two hours of grimy suds.

My job is like eating chocolate cake.  

Miss Trunchbull, the unctuous, domineering, abhorrent antagonist of the book Matilda calls for an immediate assembly of the entire student body.  There, she brings a porky boy named Bruce Bogtrotter to the stage.  Bruce has been caught stealing a piece of chocolate cake.  The entire student body is on edge to see what vile thing she is going to do to Bruce.

She gives him chocolate cake.

The student body is stunned.  Even Bruce is confounded.  Giving him the thing he enjoys most seems more like a reward than a punishment.  Bruce happily indulges in the chocolate scrumptiousness, enjoying every bit of cake on the plate.  But, Miss Trunchbull doesn't stop there.

"You look like you enjoyed that, Brucey."

"Yes, Ma'am," he mutters with his mouth full.

Miss Trunchbull leans in closer.  "You must have some more."

She brings out a ginormous cake as big as Bruce himself.

Bruce shakes his head.  "No, thanks," he tries.

"But, you'll hurt Cook's feelings.  She made this cake just for you to have on your very own.  Her sweat and blood went into this cake and you will not leave this platform until you have consumed the entire confection!!"

"You wanted cake," she grumbles, "you got cake!  Now, EAT IT!!"

With each increasing bite Bruce's demeanor worsens.  His face is pale and woozy.  He looks like chocolate puke will explode any minute.  It's delicious taste has obviously become poisonous, yet Bruce is forced to shove forkful after forkful down his throat.

Even chocolate cake which is delectable and yummy in the beginning can turn venomous.

My job is like living in the land of Oz.

For a company with an open-door policy, there are a lot of people--wizards who hold our job and our fate with the company in their hands--who we never see, are never allowed to see, and who stay behind curtains.

We are not to pay any attention to what goes on behind curtains.

And there are many, many curious things that happen behind the curtains.

I suppose it's also like living in The Capitol.  There seems to be a lot of power and a lot of facade.  And, no one really knows the truth...

But, the one thing we do know is you don't whistle while The Capitol is watching.  And The Capitol is always watching.

My job is like a televangelist.  

People are willing to pay fortunes to those who can give them hope and the stability to dream.  Such is the product we're paid to peddle.  It brings out a lot of good and provides a lot of happy moments for a lot of people.  But, a quick look at the tax returns, expense reports, and company receipts provides its own enlightenment.

It's very informative to see where all this blessed money actually goes and where it doesn't.

What similes describe your job?

Comment and let me know :-)

Chicken of the Sea Cup

Isn't it interesting how chicken breasts and fish fillets look so similar to each other?  I mean, you could not have two more opposite animals than foul and fish.  But, fry them up and put them on a plate and it's difficult to tell the two apart.  They both have that oblong, tear-drop shape.  Yet, for a chicken it's only the shape of their breast while the shape constitutes the entire profile for a fish.

Do you know what that means??  That means chickens probably compare breasts by relating them to fish.  Fish are the melons of the bird world!!  The watermelons, the cantaloupes, the grapefruits, the oranges!  Chickens use fish euphemistically!

 

Rooster: Yo, Belinda!  Yous got some nice, juicy snappers, chickadee!

Belinda: Take a cold shower, birdbrain. 

An Eye of the Storm's Outlook on the Eye of the Tiger

I’m often asked my feelings toward God or religion--especially when people learn of my background.

The other day I watched media coverage of tornado wreckage in Oklahoma.  In the middle of an interview, a survivor amazingly finds her missing dog among the debris.  She is overcome with heavenly thanks and gratitude. 

“Well, I thought God only answered one prayer,” she tearfully whispers, “To let me be okay.  But, he answered both of them.  Because this was my second prayer.”

I put myself in her position: a catastrophe; out of control; everything you’ve known to be solid and steady your whole life pulverized in an instant; no match; forceless; powerless to do anything but let nature have it’s way with you...  And, I realized something. 

In such a situation, my immediate thought would be “So, this is it, huh.  This is how it happens.”  Solemn resignation.  No pleading.  No praying.  Just acceptance.

Calm amidst the fury; the eye of the storm.

And, that’s it.  That speaks for me.  It is probably the most accurate portrayal of me and religion I’ve ever come across.  

It’s not that I believe or disbelieve (neither is the case).  I just simply am.  I allow things to be.  I don’t need to know.  I am sufficient without hope.  Acceptance provides all the peace and comfort I need.  I wouldn’t turn higher powers down, but I don’t feel the urge to search them out the way others do.  Not even in times of ultimate turmoil when it often becomes convenient to do so.  I am content to accept any possibility.

It is paradoxical: 

Others commit themselves to religion the same as they commit to an underground shelter, escaping the storm in a place of refuge, security, and peace.  Contrarily, my resignation to any possibility leaves me untethered, giving the appearance of a scattered, shilly-shallying fool.  Those cemented in their basements see me solitarily roaming the vacant fields and no doubt view the decision as idiotic, irresponsible, and featherbrained. 

By all accounts an armorless, unprotected lad should be whisked away.  Yet, the opposite is true.

Rather than refuging in a box, the willingness to accept any possibility actually creates a center of security and comfort inside of me.  Essentially, I become my own shelter.  Therefore, it matters not where I go.  In my permeable state, I feel more grounded porously letting the wind whip through me in the middle of a field than the many people I observe scurrying to a bunker.

It’s interesting because--in our day-to-day lives--believing in everything and nothing at the same time would be considered spreading yourself too thin.  It’s not progressive and not recommended.  Retirement funds, spouses, children, heart-healthy living...anything that accumulates over time or has a critical period belong to people who make a decision and adhere to it unwaveringly.  However, the roles reverse when it comes to protection and defense.

The man equipped with a castle, shield, crossbow, spear, catapult, boiling tar, and even large pebbles is better befitted for battle than a man who carries one small knife in his pocket.  Rather than being spread thin, his accumulation amounts to a fortress.  The first man is prepared for anything, the latter must hope he encounters a very specific foe.

The same is true for the modern-day weapons: words, ideas, and intent.  Openness to accept any possibility is an automatic absorber, which means there is never any need to deflect or counterattack.  Standing poised to hear any idea or opinion, and willing to accept the amount of truth in it--no matter how small--nips offense (which leads to retaliating defense) before it starts.  

The most common response to hurtful words is to defend oneself by firing back with stronger, more potently hurtful words.  However, where no offense exists, there is nothing to battle.  The best defense is not to fire back and hope your weapons are stronger, but to quell creation of a battle in the first place.

Imagine a man fighting a river.  He may slice the river to and fro, but he will not get very far in his conquest.  The man is battling where no battle exists: the man may have a problem with the river, but the river has no problem with the man.  The river acknowledges his presence but is too busy flowing past the man to fight.  The river won the battle before it even started.

There is no sense in fighting truth.  And there is truth in every opinion, i.e., everyone believes their opinion is correct.  Subdue arguments from spawning by examining the authenticity of the opinion rather than fighting it.  After all, it is up to you to decide whether you agree or not.  If you agree, then you and the man are flowing in the same direction.  If not, leave him be and float on by.  Though the blow of his sword be disagreeable, it has no power to change the course of your current.  Therefore, what does his sword matter?   

Like the river, perhaps the key to getting through this life is not finding the strength to fight (enduring to the end as my people call it), but recognizing there is no need to fight.  Fundamentally, the absence of fighting seems most peaceful.

The other day a friend posted Mark 5:36 “Don’t be afraid.  Just believe.”  He posts quotes like this often.  They are his boxing coach with a corner stool, waiting to give him a douse of water, a quick shoulder rub, and tell him to get back out there.  Their effect rarely lasts longer than a day and often only lasts a few minutes.

He is not alone.  Almost everyone I’ve encountered clings to Jesus as a bodyguard.  Someone to step in and deal with life's challenges.  When it all becomes too much it’s easier to shut off and let Jesus take the wheel.  The intriguing matter is, when Jesus is behind the wheel, it's not uncommon to be steered into thorny patches.

From my personal experience, as well as my observations of countless others, the Christian institution of hope humanity runs to for peace, love, and surety also correlates to depression, judgment, and crippling levels of self-loathing and flagellation.   I have never seen people beat themselves up or be more cruel to anyone than they are to themselves when they feel they are not appropriately measuring up to Christian levels of perfection.  And, perfection is an ever-present reminder.

Take the scripture for example: "Don't be afraid.  Just believe." carries the implication the fear exists because of a lack in faith, i.e., something you're doing wrong.  If you had enough faith, fear wouldn't be an issue.  Even in trying to convey strength and hope, it backhands with a cuffing reminder of imperfections.  The cuff instills further insufficiency in need of further back-patting, hence the child clings even tighter to Mommy's pant leg.  Like a shared syringe that first contaminates then vaccinates, gospel teachings first create insecurity, then offer sanctuary.  It is passive-aggressive parenting at its finest.

It is this variable-ratio schedule of rewarding that makes religion so addicting.  There is no doubt about it: religion is a drug.  Most people swallow it like a vitamin, seeing it as medicine to keep them strong or make them feel better.  From my observations, I think it’s used more as a narcotic, inducing inexplicable euphoric moods that crash down into unbearable lows when the high wears off.  Hence, the admonition for daily, minutely, even momentary upkeep: always a prayer in the heart and a scripture on the tongue; take a hit.  

I have sat for hours with so many people in the lows.  People frightened and searching for the strength to govern themselves.  It hurts my heart to see people tormented with pain I believe unnecessary.

People trust their feelings firmer than anything else.  But, feelings are easily created and even easier manipulated.  I have witnessed this first-hand.  And nothing does it more swiftly than religion.

It is easier to govern the world than it is to govern oneself.  It is also easier to let oneself be governed than it is to govern oneself.  Yet, there is nothing more beneficial.        

I do not vehemently oppose religion by any means.  Though I find the way people look to the source of their anguish to be the same source of their remedy most intriguing, I support religion and all those who choose to abide by it (I also support all those who do not wish to abide by it).  I have seen it provide many great things for many people.

People believe the world would be a better place if everyone believed in Christ.  I believe in kindness, love, acceptance, empathy, understanding, and that the world would be a better place if people refrained syphoning so much of their power into an external source and instead learned to provide that power internally.  

Self-actualization is my religion: the achievement of one’s full potential through creativity, independence, spontaneity, and a grasp of the real world; the process of establishing oneself as a whole person.

When it comes to an afterlife...I am open to many ideas.  But, when it comes to this life and getting me through it...  Saviors may take a seventh, eighth, ninth, and even tenth day because I was born a generator.