When I was in college, I would think about never getting myself a permanent job. The thought of being stuck in an office, with a job that only gets more dull with each passing day, didn’t make any sense to me. I wanted to live life freely – without restrictions. I would dream about travelling around, while picking up temporary odd jobs wherever I go. Movement is what I was after. I always thought of permanent 9-to-5 jobs as an obligation that brought stillness to life. I couldn’t bear to think of losing 8 hours every day doing something I didn’t want to.
As expected, my mother wasn’t too excited about my decisions. I remember her telling me, “You’d want to settle down some day.”. I heard logic in what she said and got past the thoughts of being a gypsy.
3 years later, I was working for an IT company as a content writer. 4 years later, I was working for another IT company as a content writer. 6 years later, I am still working for companies and people as a content writer. Every day I get up, brush, and freshen up. Once out of the bathroom, I am immediately in my bedroom, firing up Gmail and learning what I have to do for the day. Since, I work for more than one company or person, I give more than the generous 9-5 to my work. Now you must understand that I am not complaining. I am just stating facts and reciting my routine.
The days are good, work is good, and money is better. But, the vision of me roaming around without worrying about what the next Email would bring, still haunts me. The idea of travelling and living in a remote place where no one knew me and I didn’t have to worry about creating and maintaining a certain status quo still tempts me. The thought creates waves into a river that has stood still for long. So long that it has forgotten its way to the sea. It has forgotten that it has to flow. The river abandoned the movement for so long, it seems the movement has abandoned her.
Now the river is just like a pond, shaded by green trees. Now when the passerby asks her what she is doing standing still in the comfort of the trees, when she was born to flow and create ripples along the way, she has no answer. Sometimes, confused travelers ask who she is. She does not answer cause she does not know anymore. The movement is gone and so is the identity.
Photo by Matt Power on Unsplash