I was profoundly affected by the writings of Emile Durkheim from the moment I read the first sentence. He was on to something big. Hearing about him was the highlight of a Sociology class in community college that I took way back in 1986. The lesson of anomie lingered. Durkheim was what came to mind every day as I sat behind a desk producing nothing. Nothing tangible unless misery is tangible.
Each day I entered the giant honeycomb of an office building that I had called home for so many years and made my way up to the 10th floor so that I could buy a refrigerator on credit and finance a car at the end of the day. Perhaps take out a second mortgage to accumulate more possessions. Not really, see, I was never stupid enough to play that game, but I dedicated a great number of years of my career to jobs that produce nothing tangible. Crowded office space on every side. Up and down. The modern equivalent of the factory except we are not producing anything except misery and nonsense. Somewhere in the process, goods or services are alleged involved, but these physical meetings take place far beyond the re-enforced concrete and glass towers which are the office buildings in which I once participated in this nonsense. Crowded freeways, crowded living quarters. If Durkheim were alive today, he would flip his wig. Surely the factories of today are worse on so many levels than those of his age.
It took me a little while, but I walked away from that torture chamber of an office and started making a living with my hands again. Determined that it is futile and stupid to play the game. Are you going to write another mumbo jumbo memo? If your job is useless, make it disappear. And your worries will soon follow.
