It's My Party (And I'll Cry If I Want To)

I have heard that in Europe they don't do this, but in America we do. When you meet someone new here in the good ol' USA, what is one of the first questions you ask?

"So, what do you do?"

We use the answer to that pervasive question to establish relationships. If the guy has a better job, more money, is a self-made something-or-other, a CEO, a CFO, a COO or some other lofty acronym, then we know we have certain choices. We can envy him, honor him, patronize him, hit him up for a job...or a loan, or wonder why a loser like that is doing so much better than me.

If he, on the other hand, is unemployed, an hourly worker, or uneducated, then we know we can relate differently to him. Hey, maybe I can impress him with my pedigree. I can pity the poor bastard. Or, I can assume he has little to offer me and kind of blow him off, give him the old stiff-arm.

SO, what do I do? Well, some days, as little as possible. Others, as much as necessary. But most days, more than you can shake a stick at.

What do I do? Well, if you had asked me that question sometime between 1980 and 1996, I would have answered, "I am a minister." If you had asked me sometime between 1997 and 2000, I would have answered, "I am a salesman, no store manager, wait...I am an entrepreneur. Yeah! Enterpreneur." 2001 - 2004? "I'm a middle school English teacher. (God help me!)"

Ask me today, and I might answer with the Emperor Severus of Rome, "I have been everything, and everything is nothing." Severus was near death when he said it. Hopefully, I am nowhere near it. Although, as today is my birthday, I am certainly nearer than I was.

Birthdays are like that for me these days. Time to take stock, reflect, ruminate, relive, revisit, regret, rejoice. I should be wiser by now. Wealthier, too, probably. But, I suppose, when considering Ben Franklin's three marks of good fortune - being healthy, wealthy, and wise - batting .333 isn't so bad.

So, a tidbit of wisdom...something I have learned in my forty-six years, something to share with the random soul that reads this whisper-in-a-windstorm blog of mine. Hmmmm (scratching my greying goateed chin). OK, I've got it. here it is...

Time marches on and it doesn't stop to pick you up, dust you off, or pat your back; moreover, it doesn't have to stop in order to give you a swift crotch-kick now and again. What time does with you is inevitable and irrevocable. What you do with time...is all that matters.

Happy birthday. Pass the ammo.