I used to work with a guy, we can call him Brian. Brian was my kind of guy. He was quirky, odd, wiggy, and funny as hell. In many ways, he was a strange mixture of 21st century obsessive-compulsive, 1960s flower child idealism, and American Gothic nostalgia.
He fluctuated easily between the three, riding an ethereal wave of pure energy and dreamy belief. He never saw the contradiction of his three loves. If he did it never bothered him.
Part of his job was printing and assembling picking lists and packing lists, into the daily orders. And, when he was finished it was art, it was a sculpture of paper, binder clips and maddening precision. No matter how many orders there were, he always had six lines of binder clips stacked perfectly, a wave of black aluminum and chrome. It was as if he used a straight edge.
He worked tirelessly, consistently, no wasted motion. Artificial intelligence and robotics couldn’t have been any more methodical. Picking them up and putting them down.
At times it drove me mad. I wanted to scream, “hurry, you’re driving me crazy.” Maybe I did, once or twice. It wouldn’t have done (or, it didn’t do) any good. He wasn’t going to jeopardize his perfection for the sanity of a co-worker.
He had the cleanest email inbox anybody had ever seen. It was almost pristine. Once he was done with his part he deleted the note. It had no place in Brian’s world. He didn’t need, and he certainly didn’t want, it hanging around on his PC junking up the place. I envied his detachment. No torture, no worrying about future needs. Click, delete and victory. An awesome display of selective indifference.
Gardening became his passion. He would map out elaborate beds on his computer. Raised above the level of his lawn, enclosed by wooden retaining walls, he planted, picked, pruned until his reality matched his electronic vision. He eschewed chemical pesticides and fertilizers. Nature was the supplier.
I couldn’t understand his love for soil, work, or his love for his plants. He could talk endlessly about caterpillars and beetles, compost and coffee grounds, carrots, beans, and lettuce. In a way, it amazed me how he learned so much so quickly. He was an internet scholar. The first and only one I have ever met.
One day he announced, as if it were the most natural thing, he was quitting. He was moving down to some Southern Ohio paradise and starting a farm. He found a job not far from his land. It was mapped out, build a house, grow some crops, and live the life he was dreaming.
My mind rebelled. “People don’t do that”, it said, with a little derision.
I said, “Far out.”
And I thought “Are you insane?”
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But, I have watched, on Facebook, his progress. Walls climbing, roof spreading, wires, pipes, vining through wood, like blind termite snakes. And it has been incredible. From his own design he raised, or is raising, a house, and plants, too. As far as I know, he had minimal construction experience, and no architecture experience, but he designed and constructed a house.
He said he learned it on YouTube. And I suppose he did, the techniques, anyway. But, you don’t learn to dream online. And you certainly don’t learn to live your dream. There are no courses in laboring into the evening after working a day job. He had to figure that out on his own.
When people talk about the electronic wasteland the internet has become I think of Brian. He learned to build a house. I’m not sure if he ever held a job in construction. I worked in construction for years and I don’t know how to build anything. When people talk about tossing it all aside and getting away I think of Brian, he split from the whole damned system. I guess as long as there are stories like Brian’s the world will be a better place.
And his is only beginning.
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