Back on the Chain Gang

13 Apr

I’m sitting on my cliff-top verandah in St. Lucia, looking out on one of the most unusually beautiful landscapes I’ve ever seen; the lava flume peaks of Gros Piton and Petit Piton. Lush mountains ascend at steep angles, surrounded by the Caribbean Sea.

All of this has a price.  I’m back in harness with Travel Agent Magazine, rehired and being whipped like a mule, stress piled on stress until my health is compromised. A perverse part of me thrives on the challenge: traveling to countries like Brazil and Ecuador, meeting new people I could easily become friends with if I saw them on a regular basis, and being forced into situations that stretch my abilities and put me on the spot. But the corporate world is sick at its core.

Michael is meeting with managers while I’m in St. Lucia. My instincts tell me nothing will come of it. As a writing team, we’re not carrying any heat.

This is one of those times when it has to work – there has to be progress – or I need to walk away and re-invent myself as a writer. Maybe I have to face the fact that at fifty-two I don’t have what it takes. Although this doesn’t frighten me, it cloaks me in failure. I don’t know what kind of person will emerge from the acceptance of never making it. If I truly fail, I see myself in the future, nodding and smiling at everything people say – sunk deep into a pit of agreeability.

(2004)

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