When I drive for a long time at night, my mind opens up by itself.
I see people rushing to jobs that don’t make them happy, returning from offices where they spent the whole day nodding their heads, pressing keys and signing papers whose meaning they themselves no longer feel. And I wonder – when did we agree to the fact that our days pass in jobs that slowly make us dumb, that tire our soul more than our body?
I also did various jobs. I know what it’s like when you work just to survive, when you measure the time until your paycheck like a convict’s days until freedom. I know what it’s like when your sentences are reduced to “must” and “it’s like that for everyone”. But I was always scared of “everyone”. Because if it’s for everyone, does that mean it’s right?
I don’t think all hard work is bad. On the contrary. Hard work can ennoble a man. But there is a difference between work that builds you up and work that drains you. There are jobs that require your hands, and those that take both your hands and your mind. Jobs after which you are tired but alive – and those after which you are just empty.
I drive a taxi and I know it’s not a noble profession. But I think in it. I’m watching. I’m listening. I teach people in their rawness. My work has not taken away my ability to ask myself what is good, what is valuable, what remains. And that’s important to me.
Values, I realized, don’t come from a title or an office on the top floor. They come from the way you look at the person across from you. From whether you stayed honest when no one was looking. Have you preserved the ability to be ashamed, to forgive, to cry?
A world where people pride themselves on not thinking too much scares me. In which speed is more important than depth, and earnings are more important than face. It’s as if we agreed to be cogs – to spin, grind and spend, without ever asking who and why put us where we are.
I don’t want to be just a cog.
I may not be able to change the world, but I can save myself. I can refuse to google. I can remember working to live, not living to work. I can choose to stay awake in the time that puts me to sleep.
And as I drive through the city, between traffic lights and intersections, I remind myself: the greatest misfortune is not in poverty, nor in fatigue. The greatest misfortune is when a person stops looking for meaning and allows his days to pass without question.
And I’m still asking.
And while I’m asking – I know I’m alive.
Nezasticeni svedok 3.
Kad dugo vozim noću, misli mi se same otvaraju.
Gledam ljude kako jure na poslove koji ih ne raduju, vraćaju se iz kancelarija u kojima su ceo dan klimali glavom, pritiskali tastere i potpisivali papire čije značenje ni sami više ne osećaju. I pitam se – kada smo pristali na to da nam dani prolaze u poslovima koji nas polako zaglupljuju, koji nam umore dušu pre nego telo?
I ja sam radio razne poslove. Znam kako je kad radiš samo da bi preživeo, kad meriš vreme do plate kao osuđenik dane do slobode. Znam kako je kad ti se rečenice svedu na „mora se“ i „tako je svima“. Ali uvek me je plašilo to „svima“. Jer ako je svima, znači li to da je ispravno?
Ne mislim da je svaki težak posao loš. Naprotiv. Težak rad zna da oplemeni čoveka. Ali postoji razlika između rada koji te izgradi i rada koji te isprazni. Postoje poslovi koji traže tvoje ruke, i oni koji ti uzmu i ruke i misao. Poslovi posle kojih si umoran, ali živ – i oni posle kojih si samo prazan.
Vozim taksi i znam da to nije uzvišeno zanimanje. Ali ja u njemu mislim. Posmatram. Slušam. Učim ljude u njihovoj sirovosti. Moj posao mi nije oduzeo sposobnost da se pitam šta je dobro, šta je vredno, šta ostaje. A to mi je važno.
Vrednosti, shvatio sam, ne dolaze iz titule ni iz kancelarije na višem spratu. Dolaze iz načina na koji gledaš čoveka preko puta sebe. Iz toga da li si ostao pošten kad niko ne gleda. Da li si sačuvao sposobnost da se postidiš, da oprostiš, da zaplačeš.
Plaši me svet u kome su ljudi ponosni što ne misle previše. U kome je brzina važnija od dubine, a zarada važnija od obraza. Kao da smo pristali da budemo zupčanici – da se vrtimo, škrgutimo i trošimo, a da nikada ne pitamo ko nas je i zašto postavio tu gde jesmo.
Ja ne želim da budem samo zupčanik.
Možda ne mogu promeniti svet, ali mogu sačuvati sebe. Mogu odbiti da oguglam. Mogu se setiti da radim da bih živeo, a ne da živim da bih radio. Mogu birati da ostanem budan u vremenu koje uspavljuje.
I dok vozim kroz grad, između semafora i raskrsnica, podsećam sebe: najveća nesreća nije u siromaštvu, ni u umoru. Najveća nesreća je kad čovek prestane da traži smisao i pristane da mu dani prolaze bez pitanja.
A ja još uvek pitam.
I dok pitam – znam da sam živ.
