Every night, we save ourselves from the doldrums of our daily lives. We leave our offices, satisfied from having overcome the challenges brought upon us from co-workers and customers. Maybe even quietly celebrating a breakthrough in one of our larger projects. But overall, it means nothing to us. Our work only serves to serve the conglomerate corporation. Moving data from one form to another to make sure money gets moved from one hand to the next is not particularly self satisfying. We’re given no expression, we’re given no freedoms, we’re just given more paperwork.
So we file out of our little boxes carefully arranged inside the big box. We climb into our mobile boxes and file onto the pathways and expressways that will take us to our homes. The place we surround ourselves with favorite objects and memories. Our palace of relaxation, reflection, and release. Some of us save ourselves by tuning in and tuning out. We allow ourselves to get lost in other people’s creations. Dramas, comedies, mysteries. Breathing it all in so we can recall it with our neighbors the following day when we need to stretch our legs or stop staring at data. Others find savior in creating their own work. Pouring out the stories that have grown in our own mind onto paper, or into sculpture, or into our food. We save ourselves, release everything inside of us, cry, scream, bleed, anything to move it away from us. We work without want of stopping until the early hours of the morning, only to find we are excruciatingly exhausted and cannot take another breath unless we first rest and allow our muscles to heal so that we can find our strength to face another day stacked inside boxes, benefiting other people.
