And joining the world of
the full time writer, at last. Today, as you read this, I’ll be spending my
last day as an employee in a large, open-plan office. There, no doubt, my
colleagues will make some sort of fuss of me and my departure. It’s
traditional. We rightly celebrate this ending of one stage of our working and
social lives. Many find the change a wrench, an unwanted end to a role that
brings purpose and financial support. For me, however, this ending is something
I’ve craved for years. I shall, of course, miss some of those with whom I’ve
worked for these years. But the work I won’t miss at all. The office has been a
necessary evil for me; no more than a way of earning enough to keep my family
from poverty in a world where priorities and systems mitigate against the
individual and the creative artist.
Oh, I’m not complaining,
though I would have the world examine its priorities and ask many questions
about what it thinks important. I understand, from long experience and much
variety in employment, that the world is not run for the majority of us. There’s
a small elite, self-preserving and self-serving, that controls the conditions
under which the rest of us exist. We are, mostly, a necessary evil for those
who really run the world. We’re permitted to exist in order to provide the rich
and powerful with custom to prop up their system of pointless production and
consumption.
Okay; I hear you
objecting. I hear your justifications, excuses, reasons and self-deceptive tormenting
of logic that allow you to continue with your daily participation in the Big Con.
But, from today, I no longer need to fool myself that what I do for a living is
worthwhile, vital, essential or even in any way a positive contribution to the
welfare of my fellow men. I’m now free to examine my position and understand
the pointlessness and self-perpetuating selfishness that drives most employment.
I cast off those shackles with glee. I leave that world of the wage-slave with
huge relief and a feeling of hyperelation. See, I’ve even coined a word to
describe my feelings of release and pleasure.
I’m aware that we’re constrained
to compromise. The system is so deeply ingrained that, like religion, it
underpins and acts as foundation for almost every aspect of our daily lives.
Most are completely unaware of their real position in life. They go to work and
do the job that brings them the money to allow them to go from day to day
without having to consider the appalling realities of life. In common with most
people, I’ve had to make these compromises almost every day of my adult life. I’ve
been an employee for 49 years. I’ve been a writer for a little under 46 years,
on and off. I’ve not been willing to compromise my writing the way I’ve been
forced to compromise in my employment. As a result, I’ve never earned enough
from my talents to break free of the chains of the wage-slave. Now, I can ignore
the system as I write what I want to write, not what others might dictate I
should write. I was never free to make such challenges as a wage slave, though I
frequently bent idiotic rules in order to allow common sense and compassion to
overcome greed, bureaucracy and injustice.
You’ll note that I’ve so
far failed to define the system I’m condemning. That would take a book. And, at
present, I have other books to write. But, one day, I’ll give my time and
attention to that task. For now, I wish to luxuriate in the balm of freedom and
opportunity that will now be my world. Pensions, to which I’ve contributed
during my working life, will allow me to continue to provide for the material
needs of my family as I step out on a road of self-discovery and enlightenment.
A road towards aims I’ve had to hold in check for too long.
I recognise that much of
this post will be incomprehensible, problematic, even mildly insane, and
perhaps seen as insulting, to some readers. But I’ve had to bow to the will of
others for so long, and the sense of freedom that this new stage brings demands
an outlet. So, I apologise if I've offended. Those who know me well will
understand my meaning. Those who’ve read my work will have at least some
comprehension of my position. Time will reveal whether what I believe, feel and
care about, proves to be something worthwhile or simply consists of the
mistaken conclusions of an overactive imagination.
I started this piece full
of the intention to celebrate a stage in life that many face with dread. My
tirade against the world of conventional work came as something of a surprise,
in spite of acknowledged feelings, and may well have tossed a little water on
those celebrations. But it was something I needed to say, and to say publicly.
For now, I cheer, shout ‘hooray’, smile, laugh and soar with pleasure into the
realms of the unknown that we call retirement.
I shall not, of course, be
stopping work. In fact, the real work now begins. But what work it will be,
what joy, fulfilment and sheer delight I will have in it. And, who knows?
Perhaps I may even sell a few more books. I certainly intend to write more of
them.
Watch this space.
Walter Rhein’s The
Reader of Acheron, is book one of the Slaves
of Erafor series, a fantasy set on a future Earth at a time when reading is
prohibited. The eponymous Reader is, necessarily, a figure of mystery living
under threat of torture and death.
