Comment: Among the collateral benefits of the lockdown – there are very few — has been the opportunity to do an exhaustive clean-up of my files, folders, zip drives, desk drawers, piles of paper resting somewhere gathering dust. Included in this lessening mess have been some writing ideas.
In theory, said creative expressions could be updated to reflect the crazy world we are now experiencing, but in practice, that is unwieldy, awkward, and simply not worth it.
So —- nothing below has anything to do with the virus and its impact. That belongs in a separate, new piece tentatively called “Brave New World.” Whoops, that nomenclature has been used …. and used …. and used. Perhaps it should be “Brave? New? World?”
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It is the 530am Lakeland bus out of the Dover, New Jersey terminal, the same bus I took into New York City when I worked on Wall Street several decades ago. Darkness surrounds me, the mostly male construction guys catching some shut-eye before getting to the Big Apple and their well-paid but physically demanding union jobs that typically go from 7-730am to 2-3pm. Many of them, true of the bus drivers as well, live 40 miles or more west of the bus terminal, preferring the lifestyle and tax structure across the Delaware River in Pennsylvania.
As age begins to make an impact, I sometimes turn off my reading light on the bus, the only one which has been on, swapping productive endeavors for quiet contemplation or actual slumber. Which in fact might be the most productive activity for both the early hour and the full day ahead, and maybe this specific metric is silly anyway.
But productivity is a common characterization about the use of time, and relevant to myself. Herb, a research salesman at my former employer, proclaimed that I was the most productive analyst he had ever met, the definition being published reports, client calls made, and recommendations which were more on the money than not.
Sometimes back in the day on an early bus I would feel a touch guilty about having my light on, but the emotion passed as I wanted to be accomplishing something relevant to a job I loved … until I didn’t. Nobody on a quiet bus asks anybody else how they want to make the ride enjoyable, useful, quick, whatever.
The light bulb going on has long been the imagery of an idea coming to someone. Maybe being the only light has some competitive or creative significance, regardless of the field of endeavor. For a young person, there are multiple lights which must be discovered: illumination on cultural acclimation, inclusive of code switching as he or she winds their way through the often poorly-lit demands of family, professors, peers, friends, romantic partners, the community at large. How many of these lights confuse oneself, compete with each other. Which ones can be combined, coordinated.
Does it always take a well-researched, well-written expose, whether in book form or that of a newspaper or magazine, to shed light on ugly situations of great consequence, e.g. opioid addiction or abuse cover-ups in the Catholic church, or college admission scandals, or race-related institutional barriers to advancement, or gender discrimination in employment.
Can there be an effective light shown on the hypocrisy of super-affluent people lamenting income inequality while their companies actively seek to put the little shops out of business. There is a bodega on East 108th Street in New York City which advertises newspapers, organic products, and beer, among other products in its unique, community-friendly space. Can it survive when the corporate big box retailer opens up a half-dozen blocks away; should the spotlight be on the local impact or the lower prices, healthier food selections of the corporate competitor.
If you do not put your own light on, is it the fault of the electric utility or the bus company or the possibly annoyed seat mate … or are you looking for somebody to be at fault for your lack of initiative, curiosity, and determination.