Hunting Alone

I caught her eye briefly in the lift. She was well-dressed in a dark red, chequered jacket. Her hair was tightly organised. Creased make-up partially concealed her age.

I pitied her. She looked like she had worked here forever. I pitied this servitude. She’d lived and breathed – and become – the organisation. Here but for the grace of a bureaucrat. Stupid cow.

Then I hated myself and blushed with self-revulsion.

There was a time when people joined for life. This lady knew more about my work than I ever would. She’d know the essence, where I would only ever see functions, processes, people and “culture”. She’d know the reason the place existed.

Here I was. An uppity virtual worker. A portfolio careerist, restless and twitchy.

Treasure Hunt – (manpsing) Manpreet via Flickr

Thereafter all day I saw my desperation reflected back to me in the aversive eyes of fellow suits.

In this city of millions, I hunted alone.

No clan or tribe, but the writer of my own destiny.

Every disappointment and opportunity.

Paralysed by my freedoms.

Reality glares back at me with owl eyes.

Why do we hunt alone when we all want the same things?

2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Lovelly
    Sep 02, 2014 @ 13:29:45

    You’re a brilliant writer.

    The grass is always greener eh.


  2. Craig Lawton
    Sep 02, 2014 @ 13:37:07

    Thanks Emma. 🙂


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