THURSDAY, 29 APRIL 2010
Riding to school this afternoon, I went through the list of tasks I am currently busy with. Suddenly a thought emerged from a place that could only be described as the subconscious, seeing that I did not consciously decide to think the idea.
“It’s all nice and dandy,” said the thought, “but something’s not right.”
“What?” I asked.
“I don’t know. The tasks are so … mundane.”
“Mundane?” I repeated.
“Yes, I mean … aren’t you supposed to be making money?”
“Well,” started the Thought from the Depths, “to make money is one hell of a big deal, isn’t it? How do you reckon you’re going to make money with such mundane, everyday tasks?”
And there you have it: A Conviction from Down Under.
But then I realised, I created this monster out of making money – a god, as it were, before whom I must bow down in humility; a god I must impress with my hard work: eight hours struggling to turn in a screw with my thumbnail where 30 seconds with a screwdriver would have sufficed; and with complex processes and impressive tasks, not the everyday kind that any entrepreneur with half a brain can manage. This is my work. This is what I do. I created this mythological figure, because making money is an awfully big affair. (I later thought if I had to inspect the figure a little more closely, I would notice it is made from paper pulp and glue because I couldn’t afford clay or metal.)
I reckoned this leaves me with two options:
Option A) Even though other entrepreneurs aren’t shackled with a similar monstrosity in their heads, I must continue to honour the hand-carved God of Money. I would probably also have to work out a mantra to recite while I do my tasks. I would, as a matter of course, also have to burn incense and play religious chants in the background.
Option B) I must recognise this clumsy, bloated figure as the false idol it truly is. Like other people who make monstrous figures out of their fears, or out of things they must do for which they regard themselves inadequate, so I would have to admit to this monster being nothing more than my own creation. I reckon, if I can succeed in driving this hideous hallucination from my mind, I could get on with the sometimes mundane tasks that may just lead to the income that could have been mine years ago.