Walking Backwards

My last two weeks at work, we had a new BT Director start. His name is Bennett and he arrived, fresh faced and pure. His desk was next to mine- me, a now shriveled mushroom of contempt. The two of us a stark contrast between the beginning and the end. Such a harsh, heartbreaking portrait of truth. Its always interesting when innocence and naivety enters into a toxic environment. All of us hostages, answering questions in our rehearsed, appropriate way, hoping our eyes dont give us away. 

“Yes, it’s amazing here,” I tell Bennett. “Im only leaving because I got accepted into the police academy. I want a job that supplies you with a gun.” My eyes staring into his, hoping he cant tell they are screaming, “You made a dire mistake.”

The other serendipitous thing about the beginning and the end, is both of us have nothing to do. My boss froze me out for two weeks straight- he spoke not one word to me. And Bennett, brand new without access to any systems, was left to watch video tutorials in solitude. The two of us next to one another, the large space in between us- what will happen and my God what happened?

First take on Bennett was unanimous among everyone- hes a handsome finance bro. I felt for him though because what if that was an unfair judgement? I wouldnt write him off as that until he arrogantly bragged about his lavish lifestyle and frequent drug use. 

I had resorted to bringing my personal laptop into work and used my last weeks to write in a very hostile, tense, semi-violent environment. I was curious what would be produced in such conditions. Bennett to my left and Bryant to my right. Wed all be sitting in silence, until I spoke:

“What are the institutions called where we waterboard people?” I asked. 

Bryant is used to this, but Bennett turned, blue eyes wide. 

“And cyber warfare? Who’s doing that? Is it Mother Russia?” I added. 

“I think of China,” Bennett said, unsurely, but he also looked very interested. “What are you writing about?” he asked, trying not to laugh. 

“Its not ready to be explained yet,” I told him, my brow furrowed, looking at my computer screen. I turned towards him and smiled. “Do you like to read?” I asked him. 

“I do. I like, well I like history, specifically well, do you know who John Muir is?” he asked. 

“The mountain man,” I said and he nodded. “You like naturalists?” I asked, typing “mountain men” into my google browser. 

“Beaver trappers,” I read, trailing off, baiting him. Bennett lit up, “Yes! Mountain men were typically fur trappers, but also explorers who mapped the western territories and developed important wilderness skills for survival. I like that era of history. Me and…a lot of old men.” 

I stared at him in silence. This was not a finance bro. 

“So you wish you were…” I asked, pausing and he finished my sentence, “a fur trapper,” he said laughing. 

“I actually just wrote about bartering,” I told him and he looked at me like I was an alien. “But I never thought about fur. Trading beaver pelts for moonshine,” I pondered out loud, beginning to get carried away with my imagination. 

“I think moonshine was a prohibition creation,” Bennett said.

I suddenly was struck with an imaginary scene in my mind. “Imagine going on a first date. Somewhere normal, like a bar for a drink, and you ask ‘what would you like?’ and your date replied, ‘I like my alcohol..smuggled. Do they have any hootch or bathtub gin?” 

Bryant perked up at the mention of hooch. “Illicit whiskey made in prison toilets,” he added. 

“Toilet wine,” I said. 

“When people ask why we broke up- its because of our differing opinions on the 18th Amendment,” Bennett adds.

“Panning for gold in the Mississippi River,” I interjected, this not historically factual, and having nothing to do with the banning of intoxicating liquor or the economic lifeblood of the fur trade. 

The conversation had gone off the rails, the three of us all playing off one another, creating more and more insanity. 

What makes it worse is we had an audience. Because of the open floor plan of our office, Bruno, Jonathan, Stephanie and Amber were all listening to us. Im sure they were all absolutely furious. 

“Bennett what is your dream career? I mean what would you be doing if you didnt have to worry about money?” I whispered because if the bosses found out that THIS wasnt living the dream they would call judgement. 

Ive become obsessed with asking this to everyone, no matter the appropriateness, or closeness of our relationship, and it’s killing me that almost everyone is not doing whatever it is they wish they were doing. Is it some sort of selfish act to pursue a life that makes you happy? 

“I would be a park ranger,” Bennett whispered back. “They provide you housing too, so I would probably live in a cabin somewhere in Yosemite,” he explained, adding, “but I mean, the dating pool goes significantly down with a job thats isolated like that.”

“Unless you meet an attractive woman who also enjoys trapping beavers and sleeping in a bunk bed in some remote forest cabin,” I pointed out hopefully. “You would really only find her by the river..where..the beavers are,” I said, starting to confuse myself, and knowing I should stop thinking out loud. 

It always has seemed so easy to me, this recipe for life. You listen to yourself, you follow your bliss, your bliss leads you to find your soulmate along the way, and then you are done. You carry on happily ever after into oblivion. 

But this alignment with yourself is actually the hardest thing to achieve, even though it should be the easiest.

Ive seen peoples jobs, the obsession with money, the desperation to meet societys standards and expectations end up manifesting into physical health issues- ulcers, illness, addictions. But for some reason this is widely accepted as the responsible way to live. 

You must make a living. You must have stocks and bonds. You must invest. Life insurance. My life insurance policy tells me that I would be more profitable if I were dead. This depresses me. 

Specifically, this socioeconomic pressure seems to be overwhelming burdensome for men. 

I asked my friends Rick and Bryant if they feel like they need to have money and status to attract a woman. Bryant proceeded to pen an almost fifteen paragraph text dissertation about the internal pressure men deal with daily- their value being directly linked to their salary or job title. Hence why rich men have multiple women, the reason why if men arent at a certain economic level theyre immediately discarded, no matter how kind or caring they are. 

Rick essentially agreed with all this, but in his..own special way. He said, “yeah you cant take a girl to McDonalds. But also it depends on the woman. Also, how would they know how much you make? Theyd have to ask. You could just lie.”

“Lie?!” I responded. 

“Hell yeah Id lie,” he said flatly. “Its also kind of a bitch question to ask, so Id be turned off. Id probably tell her I make minimum wage after that.”

I thought about when I met Silvio. Sleeping on the floor of his friends apartment and spending his days doodling on post it notes at his job as a front desk agent at a hotel. He was probably an absolute disgrace in someones eyes. But all that didnt stop me from getting to know him. Optics aside, I was able to discover who he really was. A genuinely talented artist, and caring, and full of different interests, actually thousands of interests, literally interested in absolutely everything. I had no desire to go to fancy restaurants or have him buy me anything. There was nothing I desired that I couldnt buy myself. Buying things or being “seen” at certain hot spots, these were foreign concepts, completely irrelevant to me. 

I look at him now, and hes grown into such a respectable, confident version of that same man I met. Its like loving him helped him blossom. Maybe sometimes you just need someone to believe in you. To see the best version of you and love you for nothing but who you are.

“Rick what about thoughtful dates that dont cost anything?”

“Hopefully thatll get her going,” Rick replies. 

“Going to the beach? Reading in a park? Walking around a city?” I suggest enthusiastically.

“Yes to the beach. Reading in a park is out in 2025. Walking around a city and almost getting killed by a hobo? Depends on the city,” Rick shuts me down. 

“What about going to the library?” I ask diabolically, waiting, knowing. 

“I would not go to the library,” he said in a tone that usually is reserved for “I would not participate in human trafficking. Ever.”  

I look at my little Noah, lying on the rug and busily copying the circulatory system from a book onto his drawing notepad. He is completely fascinated with “the human body systems.” The other day he told me all about what the penal glands function in the brain is. Maybe he will grow up to be a doctor, and I think of the plethora of undeserving women clawing at the chance to date him. Only seeing the Dr. in front of his name and the salary and status that comes with it. Not ever once imagining him as he is now, just a little eager soul, curious about how the human endocrine system works. Never looking deeper, into the heart and soul that is my little boy. I am enraged at these hypothetical women. 

I think of Bennett, wishing he was in the middle of Yosemite, protecting wildlife, preserving our planet, but instead is sitting for eight plus hours a day in a windowless room, tasked with making profit for a hotel that pays him significantly less than whatever money he brings in for the company. Doing this for the stability, the higher chance of finding a mate who will most likely never fulfill his lifelong dream to trap a beaver, make a hat out of its pelt, and bring back the most important fashion accessory of the 1800s with him. 

“It all seems ridiculous,” I say to Bryant. 

“Thats because you are a backwards walking person,” Bryant tells me. 

And its true. I look, and I see, and Im slowly walking backwards, far, far away from it all.