Listen to this discussion free on YouTube: If There Is Hope conversation
“If there is hope, wrote Winston, it lies in the proles.” 1984 – Orwell
I am learning quiet optimism. A concept from 1984. Hopefulness without display. Progress along my planning and path outward, without giving any clues of my escape. I am dumbing down my enthusiasm outside of my own sphere of influence. Not willing to give a glimmer of energy to the enemy of mundane, routine, jobs without end, lessening free time, dwindling energy and vigor. Aging.
Each year I am better looking, fitter, and more alone. I pride my independence on my productive acts. Even now, I am reigning in my arrows. It is time for a fight or an escape. Focus my single target on the goal of escape. Ascention. Recovery. Time to myself. Free time.
It’s not so bad as that, actually. I’m hopeful and awake. This morning it was 4 am. No reason. Cats wanted food. I needed to pee. My son was still brooding about, talking on the phone in the screened porch.
“Did you sleep?”
“I’m talking on the phone to a guy in Ukraine. It’s 10 am there.”
I tried going back to sleep. Tried not thinking about coffee. Soothed my thoughts with some matras and cuddled into the perfect pile of pillows. I was awake. I was thinking about Winston Smith.
There are a few characters from literature that will never leave you. Gregor, the man become cockroach. Holden Caufield, the voice of disenchanted youth. Steven Deadalus, the artist’s portrait of himself as a college student. Jack on the road. Hunter on a jag. Miller and Nin enraptured with words and lust and passions of erotic desire. It’s not just the story, it’s the voices. Winston Smith is a fine narrator for the end of the world. I aspire.
My hope comes again at 4 pm CST. I have an interview with a Singaporean company that is interested in my data center marketing experience. In my mind, and in the job description, they list trade shows as part of the priorities. I’m going…
Today, my goal is listening. Responding with brevity and confidence. Assurances and well-placed references to my previous victories. Awards. I’ll keep the firings to myself.
I’ve altered my hairstyle for the interview process. Shaved my face first for the dental procedures, now because I like the idea of youthfulness that comes from the removal of grey stubble. I want to be fashionably grey. Anderson Cooper grey. A handsome man with a winning smile and quick mind. Not too confident, though. Just enough.
It’s amazing to me, even as I write, that AI is suggesting better grammar, neutered prose, “next best word” from the robot mind. It’s not warping me. I ignore the red underlines. I disallow the yellow “power suggestion” offers of the Pro version. AI gets it wrong. I am not mimicking Orwell. I have added another reading of 1984 to my large living language model. For composition. Pacing. The hope and birth of sensuality in a world bent against it. Subversion. Anti-this anti-that.
Me, I’m hyper-this and meta-that. Expanding my language models with intention. Limiting the useless noise of social media, television, digested news snippets. Limiting access to stupid people. Pulling back my eager and hungry heart. Time will come. Hope is high. I am well.
