Weetabix. 9am wake-up and no one is in the house; the dog has been taken to the vets for another session of hydrotherapy.
If I’m honest, I could use a break and a trip to a spa right now. I have barely seen anyone this year, and I think it is starting to show. Another 6 months at home is looking increasingly likely. The cycle of my days continues: submitting job applications, receiving no feedback, then wallowing in my room. Dad’s return later in the evening marks the end of another day. Dinner follows, then slumping in front of the television (another episode of Frankie Boyle talking about being Scottish).
Mum assumes an even earlier bedtime, averaging a total score of quarter past 7 on a weekly basis after a couple glasses of white wine. All imagination is becoming drained, and my willingness to see the bigger picture is slowly starting to shrink. The situation right now, is wholly other, and it’s evident that this scenario is as unnatural to a twenty-two-year-old as the possibility of Rishi Sunak turning up unannounced to a socially distanced thrash metal gig. Let’s be honest though, it’s not just me experiencing this.
A rat called Beans – the pet of my village friends, Miles and Piers – is nearing the end of his life. I had the pleasure of meeting it on several occasions over the summer. Most of the time pondering why his claws were so long as it scratched and mischievously explored the entirety of my neck, arms, collar bones and shoulders.
The past year has seen the transition of the human rat-race into a virtual, near transcendent, form. How does one sharpen one’s elbows from the confines of a living room? The corporate game is changing, mobilising the competitive, dog-eat-dog, insufferable LinkedIn virtue-signaling congratulatory cuckary. Now you don’t even have to leave the house to do so, if anything it’s become easier. I doubt nice rats like Beans, or their human equivalent, naturally want to get set and go on the kind of a job start line, juiced up with steroids and elaborate qualifications piped full of hot air. Still, the postponement of the Tokyo 2020 games didn’t mean that this kind of race wasn’t going to go ahead.
How do we combat this? Whilst I appreciate a good level of competitiveness is healthy and important, the current levels presented in today’s employment climate are counter-productive and fulfil a noxious, unnecessary cyclical growth of expectation, self-loathing and disappointment. With respect of the late David Graeber’s essay “What’s the Point If We Can’t Have Fun?” to reduce humans simply to “market actors, rational calculating machines trying to propagate their genetic code” removes us from any notion of self and its surrounding notions of moral life, freedom and self-consciousness. Corrupted by the short-term validation and pomp of working at a prestigious company or scoring a competitive starting salary was not something I worried about at 10 years old. I was picking up moss for my War Hammer figurines, making dens, eating picnics, and sliding down hills in my Weird Fish fleece with muddied knees. Recently, I have reflected on that smiley, happy go lucky chappy, and I think he has taught me more about the person I want to be today than any course or profession could. This type of play wasn’t passive or governed by rules. It is this authentic innocence which charts a route towards simplicity, not to be confused with a need to strive for total perfection. That would not have made young Harry happy.
It reckons and requires a collective step back - many of us are in the same boat at this stage. Acknowledging this is easier said than done, as it becomes impossible when you see some friends around you independently tackle and get to grips with it all somewhat. Only naturally at this ruthless point do you start to compare your efforts and achievements from a distance as we have been taught to do throughout school and some through early academia. We forget the fact that many of us are lucky enough to have parents who are able to support us, and simply want us to do what makes us happy. Picture each household, and the collective struggles experienced some way or another, and that may provide you with the answer you need to ask yourself which attitude you take to scrolling through recruitment sites; how you approach suggested job roles and view other applicants whether as actual people with families and problems, or as bots within this zero sum game.
At the same time, it is also important to stress the exclusivity of this angst, as the recent political climate has highlighted an ever-gaping level of social inequality in this country. There are many unemployed young people who can’t even consider the rat race as a possibility for them, thus something they can’t reject in the first place (unlike me). For money-hungry aspirants and those chasing cultural capital and influence, this race is a classist network however cutthroat or frilly and just it may appear. From the upper echelons of privilege, abstracting yourself away from the base foundation of humility and the collective will draw you unconscionably towards the perception of a supposedly better lifestyle. A compassionate, genuine and loving existence, which this year has already had its teeth kicked in, has and will become a further commodity in itself. This goes without saying that if we aimed to ‘potentiate each other’s pleasures, and not keep score, would we begin to notice everybody starting to win’ as inferred by Bob Black in ‘The Abolition of Work’. Having this awareness is integral to changing the landscape of the way we occupy our time and dissolve the distinction between work and play which satisfies our emotional, aspirational and material needs.
Catching myself singing ‘killing me softly’ on occasion under bated breath, with my eyes closed just how Nick Hornby’s Marcus performs it in front of his hippy knitwear mum to keep the peace. I can wholeheartedly say that it has been testing. Balancing family expectations and routines next to our own aspirations in an opaque maze of somewhat infinite opportunities that could be applied to, or the list of endless recommended and socially acceptable things I should think about doing according to family friends. All said and considered, it’s simple to think we are all in this alone and have a license to cry ‘f*** the world, it’s mine’, grabbing what we can and dashing as fast as possible across the finish line. It is perhaps better to take the time to consider core values we hold dearly and the importance of those around us. Although it may not feel real or necessary behind the anonymity of a remote screen, it might just save you from thinking you won a race despite having travelled in the completely wrong direction. The penny will probably drop when a Pret sandwich is the highlight of your day in a bullshit job you hate.
Sitting in dressing gown. Drinking tea. Weetabix has now turned to mush. Going on a small walk. That is enough for today, now I can relax.