I have a blessing, and a curse. My mind works well and fast — in common terms, I guess I would be qualified as intelligent. Growing up in a traditional Persian culture, it was obvious that my wits would be used to pursue academic and corporate excellence, regardless of my interest for the arts. Back when I was growing up, in the eighties and nineties, ecological, economic and sociological issues were not mainstream either. The world was not yet to be saved — at least not that I knew of. I followed the path I was supposed to, too scared to defy authority, not brave enough to search for my own path.
The more I entered adulthood and the corporate world, the less I felt like I belonged. At first, of course, I was still very much centered on myself, deploring that my energy and skills were wasted on boring, meaningless tasks, constantly feeling like I was missing something, thinking there has to be more than that to life. I wasn’t doing much to change things — out of laziness, fear, or habit, who knows — I was mainly complaining that I was not where I should be.
Time went by and I tasted the thrill of getting promoted and earning more money. Fleeting joy, followed by the pressure of working harder for even more. I was confined in my social circle of people well off enough to remain oblivious to the battles that were raging outside. And still, bearing that feeling of internal void.
I guess my blindfolds started fading away when I met my now husband. He was a complete outsider to my existing circle, and he was fascinating. Not because he had gone to a famous school or was a corporate wonder or was driving a certain car. He had lived, and almost died trying to do so. He had crossed countries by foot because he wanted to be free. He had gone through struggles I could not fathom, but he had never turned back, ready to pay the price for freedom. Freedom of thought, of speech, of choice. My little bubble had just been popped.
Then came yoga. What started as a physical challenge soon became a gateway to my soul, to the things I felt but was not even aware of and could not express. A link between me and the rest of the Universe. We are not the center of the world; living does not mean exchanging our time for money, then spending it, then dying, alone. What does it mean then?
I wake up every morning with the same questions. Why are we doing the things we do? What real problem in the world are we helping to solve? A real problem is neither investors’ value maximization nor inventing a pain so we can sell a profitable solution.
We are facing so many ecological, sociological and economic issues right now. Surely, we can find a better cause to work for, a better reason for working hard. Why are we not all more intransigent about this? And when we are, why is it so hard to find change-makers to work with, while there are so many platforms reinforcing the corporate hegemony? When we do find positions, they pay only a tenth of traditional corporate jobs — because saving the world is so much less important than making investors richer. The investors will pay to maximise their profit; unfortunately, the earth and the underprivileged cannot afford it, and not many of us will vouch for them. This is the world we live in, the mainstream values of our “developed” society.
So, we choose to stay in capitalistic corporate settings because we need to pay our bills, and we want to offer a comfortable life to our children. This has always been and still is my excuse; I figure forcing myself to stay is a small price to pay for the benefit of my family. Except I am lying to myself. The price I am paying is much higher — it is my soul I am selling, day after day, little piece by piece. And my family only reaps a fleeting benefit; my son does not need more toys, he needs mentally healthy parents and a future on earth. When he grows up, will he thank me for all the stuff I gave him, or for having fought the battles to make this world a better place for him?
