We meet, you and I, as you’re slogging down the road.
You say to me, Damn, you’re hooking it.
I say, “Thanks! I try. I’ve come a long way and I’m starting to build up some momentum; it’s awesome.”
You say to me, That’s cool. Do you have any ideas on how I can speed up?
I say, “I have advice on everything! Happy to help. Let’s… have a looksee at what you’re carrying.”
You say, Well, it’s just the usual stuff, but I’ll show you if you want. You open your backpack and put it down while making Ooof noises.
The box
I turn everything upside down to uncover a big wrapped-paper shoebox. “What’s this?”
You say, Damn, I dunno. Been carrying it around for ages, it’s not much.
I say, “Really? It feels pretty hefty. May I open it?” and you say Sure.
I cut the string and unwrap the brown paper and inside the box are ten small dumbbells. One has painted on the handle I just want you to have a steady job, is all. Another says That sounds… weird. Underneath But how can you know it’ll work out? sits I’m just not sure we have enough savings for that.
You smile ruefully. I thought I left this stuff behind ages ago, but apparently not.
I say, “The well-meaning advice of family and friends, right?”
You nod. They mean well.
I half-smile. “Of course they do; that’s why it’s hard to let go of. But to paraphrase The Wiz, in order to get on down the road you can’t take nothing that might be a load. Wanna ditch it?”
You gently pat I just want what’s best for you and sigh deeply. Yeah, I’m ready to put that down. You bury the shoebox respectfully by the side of the road.
The purse
When you turn back I’m investigating your Ye Olde Coin Bag with a concerned frown. It’s open, and a whistling noise can be heard. I say, “Do you have a… vacuum in your purse?”
You say, I sure do! It really got me moving to start making money, it just draws it in! The suction is amazing.
I say, “But when do you know you’ve made enough for now? I mean, it’s like a black hole. It’s never ever going to get full.”
You stare blankly. I… don’t. I just keep trying to make more money. Is that wrong?
I produce a teeny version of an apple crate, one big enough for only two apples. I say, “Put your money in here.”
With difficulty you prise your silver coins out of the vacuum and dump them in the tiny crate. They fill it half-way with the hefty clink of pieces-of-eight. You stare and say, I never thought I had that much money.
I say, “If you have a vacuum instead of a container, you could make a million dollars and it wouldn’t feel like enough. Enough is important.”
You nod and say, Sure. But how does that speed me down the road?
I smile. “Because then you don’t have to think about money all the time. You can play, learn, experiment, collaborate, give things away… all the things you either don’t do, or do half-heartedly and guiltfully, when you’re always trying to make More Money Every Fucking Minute. And when you wander a bit you find shortcuts, and rocket skates, and sherpa guides… a thousand tools to shorten your path.”
The anchors
“By the bye,” I say, “What’s up with your knees?”
You look down at your scabbed and bleeding knees and say, I honestly don’t know how that happened.
I walk all around you and then trumpet, “Ah-HA! I know what’s going on. Look!” I turn you around to show a half-dozen hand-sized boat anchors dragging behind you. There are long furrows like a plough as far back as you can see, with the occasional jump-and-skip where they’ve gotten caught in a pothole and you’ve fallen again onto your much-lacerated knees.
You kick them gently. What the giddy hell are these?
I say, “They’re open loops, unfinished commitments. They’re all the old programs you haven’t gotten around to closing down, the clients you haven’t taken off the books, the $15-a-month service you never bothered to cancel. Mostly they just drag behind you, slowing you down, but sometimes they trip you. You’ll never go as fast as you could until you get these off your back.”
You say, Well, that one I can get rid of right now, and that one – didn’t I ALREADY ditch that? Daaaamn – but these couple are going to take more untangling than I can do right now.
I say, “That’s cool. Make plans to unknot them when you can, and make sure to keep an eye on bumps in the road where they might trip you. Those suckers take up resources that will sometimes be in short supply.”
The poncho
I return to looking through your backpack. “Wow. Look at THIS.”
I pull out the world’s most gigantic poncho. It’s made of felted wool two inches thick, with patterns of burros in straw hats and a red fringe. “This thing is EPIC. And really heavy. Why are you carrying it?”
You shrug and say, Well, sometimes I get a cold reception. I need it so I don’t get frostbite.
I raise an eyebrow. “Why don’t you just stay where it’s warm? There are plenty of places where you could bask in the regard of loving clients, and you wouldn’t need to haul this woollen monster around with you.”
Your eyes look down to the side and you say, I love it there. But it’s probably not big enough to stay there all the time.
I grin with irritating sarcasm. “Really? There are probably 500 million people who speak the same language as you and have a working internet connection, and you don’t think there are enough of them to keep you warm? You need to go chasing the ice giants instead?”
You say, No. But yes. No! It’s just…
“Scary.”
Yeah.
“Well, you wanted to know how to travel faster. Part of it is the bravery to leave the safe and flat road and run to the hills instead.”
Was that an Iron Maiden reference?
“It sure was.”
The path less chosen
You shake my hand and say Thanks. I feel much lighter already.
I say, “You are exceptionally welcome, my dearest. Is there anything else I can help you with before we part ways?”
You do your thinkyface and then ask How do I choose which path to follow?
“You don’t. Ideally you want to blaze your own trail for other people to follow – it’s the first explorers who get the big rewards.”
You frown. Well, that sucks… how do I get help when no-one’s gone there before me?
I reply, “There are lots of people who are making useful tools for the journey that will help no matter what trail you want to blaze. You know, sturdy boots to protect your ankles and sextants and pitons and cool things like that.”
Is that the kind of thing you make?
“Yep. DIY Magnificence is a combination machete, compass and packet of trail mix – the good kind with the little chocolate bits in.”
That sounds neat.
“Thanks! It made me happy to make. Well, I’m turning here – good luck on the road.”
Yeah, you too.
And we shake hands and part ways, each walking off into our own sunset.
***
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