Just a number
Age : a number, a measure of time spent, a measure of time left, etc., nothing you didn’t already know, and if you think of it, nothing that should bother you more today than it did yesterday.
Just a number.
“Sometimes the whole is greater than the sum of its parts,” says the cheesily positive corporate trainer, talking about passion or synergy or the latest in testing-hardware or something equally generic. “F*** you,” i say; i hate positivity and i hate people telling me how to lead my life. I like telling people how they should lead their lives. I should be a trainer.
But i digress.
This trainer might have been onto something. Misguided probably, but definitely onto something. The older i get, the more often i think about one day having to turn back and take stock of all i’ve done. And this is the deal : i want to be able to look at the years and say that the result has indeed been greater than just a simple sum of the years spent on the way.
The older i get, the more cynical i get, the less sure i am of this happening and that worries me.
Somewhere along the way life turns into a series of numbers for most of us. Ages at which we got our degrees, number of degrees, seniority grades at work, last year’s salary increment, the year before last year’s h-index.
Just numbers. Like co-ordinates to pin us down on a giant multidimensional space representing life and where we stand w.r.t. the rest of the world on it.
“Oh look, there’s the ne’er-do-well last-bencher from school and oh look, there’s the vice-president for body-on-frame platforms.”
People. Just numbers.
Only problem : they aren’t. No matter how hard you kid yourself.
People. Not numbers. Not most of the time.