“Why do you complain?” he asks. “You have all that you need and more. You know that there are those who would kill for the security you have and yet you squander it.” He sighs, frustrated, “Your complaints are so petty.”
I nod. His severe face is a study in practicality and I feel foolish for even airing my complaint. He is right. Who am I to complain? People are starving and dying by the millions all around me and all I can think to do is complain because I am unhappy. It is petty. I can already feel myself resigning to accept what is.
It is at those moments that a small flame sparks as it always has. This small flame that seems so insignificant that it often escapes notice is the core of me. The final remaining vestige of the soul beneath. He lashes out in a sudden almost vicious rage and I turn to face the counselor.
“No,” my voice nearly a whisper, “they are not petty.”
“Oh?” he looks down at me. “You are egotistical enough to place your dissatisfaction on the same level as starvation or death? Perhaps, you are more arrogant than even I imagined.”
I took two steps forward marching towards him as that little flame roared within me. “I believe that death comes in more forms than you imagine. I believe that a person may work for 30 years inside a corporate shell and be dead for most that time. I believe that the one of the greatest crimes is to squander your skill and capabilities in the mindless pursuit of profit. I believe that the world is a better place because of art and literature and that they share an equal playing footing with science and technology. I believe that a body may be fat and full and still hollow and empty and that the starvation of the spirit is a far greater danger than that of physical body. I believe, most of all, that each should follow their passion. The farmer should farm. The builder build. The scientist discover and the artist create.”
I was raging now, my voice rising in a crescendo of righteous anger. “No, sir, I do not consider my problems more pressing than many of those around me, but neither are they petty or trite. The petty are those who cling in abject desperation to the company tit seeking solace only in their own financial well-being.”
“I have been hungry, sir. I have in my life been forced to face nights without food. I am doing the same now. The food I seek is meaning and purpose, the sustenance of the soul. We are starved of it and I, for one, intend to eat my fill once again.”
