Yesterday began before the sun came up, racing across the country in the dark to reach a far away office in time to begin somebody else’s day. From the moment I stepped from my co-worker’s car, a sprint ensued - chewing up lunchtime, crashing into the early evening, and finally skidding a halt in the early hours of this morning.
Today began in the dark once again; eating a cooked breakfast in a guest house before resuming the head-long stagger through a software development death valley, at times watched by an audience of those who are good at talking, but not doing.
Traveling home this evening I was struck by how normal this existence has become - an existence ruled by deadlines and expectations - set by those who have no conception of the stress or hardship their whimsical decisions inflict. It has become a burden I appear to carry lightly - at least to those who only see me as a resource they might use. A safe pair of hands. The go-to guy.
There’s only one problem.
Behind the professional facade is this quiet guy who loves nothing more than to spend time at home doing “nothing” : playing with his children, reading books, writing, watching movies, listening to music, and not doing so many other things.
While travelling home in the dark this evening I was struck by the song “Gravity Happens” by Kate Voegele… Gravity Happens, And we don’t know it till after we hit the ground And the world’s spinning faster If each day that passes and each dashing hour What am I to do? I’ve broken my parachute If gravity happens, then I’ll fasten wings to my shoes. It could have been written about me…
The guy who crashed into the ground exhausted this evening - reaching home to discover a better half near breaking point. The guy who dropped his bags, fastened wings to his shoes and become the trusted pair of hands - reading stories with the children, washing up, making cups of tea, and slowly lifting his family back onto his shoulders.