I just finished a book called Wind, Sand and Stars by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. It’s mostly about the early days of mail carrier pilots; guys who flew crude aircraft through storms and mountain passes to deliver their letters and packages. Near the end the book Saint-Exupéry takes a different direction and recounts his experiences observing the Spanish civil war, and what those days taught him about death, and camaraderie, and hope. That’s where I came upon this paragraph:
What all of us want is to be set free. The man who sinks his pickaxe into the ground wants that stroke to mean something. The convict’s stroke is not the same as the prospector’s, for the obvious reason that the convict’s stroke has none. It would be a mistake to think that the prison exists at the point were the convict’s stroke is dealt. Prison is not a mere physical horror. It is using a pickaxe to no purpose that makes a prison; the horror resides in the failure to enlist all those who swing the pick in the community of mankind.
We all yearn to escape from prison.
Doesn’t that hit it dead-on? That freedom isn’t always about doing different things, but doing those things for a greater purpose? That even mundane routine can breathe anew if it’s the tasks of free people? I’m anxious to know what you guys think. Sound off in the comments if you like.
Have a good one,
“B2″
Wow. That’s totally true. It’s really easy to feel trapped when what you’re doing feels pointless. However, when you realize your value and purpose, even the less desirable jobs seem glorious.