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Bus One Seven: Definition
It’s not what you are, it’s who you are
by Roderick Armageddon

Watching my friend twitch in his suit, we all mill about, waiting for the bride to make her way out of the building and onto the lawn. Sipping this amazingly tasty concoction of peach nectar and champagne, I see someone that looks strangely familiar. Someone I think I should know but whose name I couldn’t remember if you threatened a class-action lawsuit. We introduce ourselves, and he reminds me his name is Rick. Rick the architect. After the brief introduction, he asks me, "So what do you do again?"

This is where all that might be smooth and easy in the pending conversation comes to a grinding halt. I pause. It feels as if an hour passes as my mind fumbles over the possibilities. What the hell am I? Yes, I work in this field, and this is what I do. But is this what I really do? What has in all actuality been just a millisecond comes to an end, and none too soon, and my mouth utters the words I hoped it would have had the courage to avoid: " I work in the beer business." Almost immediately a sense of guilt runs over me as I feel the hands of betrayal tighten around my throat. Indeed, I have betrayed everything that I have been preaching for months — hell, years. I had the opportunity to define myself and I turned my back on all the spirit and vigor that I claim to have for my life’s work. Plain and simple, I had the opportunity to make a step in the right direction and I flinched. If I were a Navy fighter pilot, my plane would be sinking in the Pacific.

How often do you have the chance to define yourself to others? In professional settings, you exchange business cards and everyone knows why you’re there and, possibly, what you do. In those situations people hope the individuals they’re hiring or working with are people who can meet the demands of business. They won’t ask what you do, but if they do, chances are it will be motivated by a specific business interest.

In social settings, however, you have the chance to define yourself any way you choose, whether it’s by your profession or career, or by some intense personal passion that truly defines who you are. The problem is that no matter which line you choose, people still seem to think in terms of a business designation. If you tell someone, for example, "I’m a cyclist," they instantly assume you ride professionally. "So you cycle for a living?" they ask you. No, you don’t cycle for a living. In fact, you drive a forklift and move pallets of beer around all day.

True, driving a forklift doesn’t sound like such a bad gig, but it may be completely contrary to who and what you truly are. Perhaps you spend three hours a day cycling, five days a week; this is almost as much time as you spend at your forklift job. The main difference is that you choose to cycle because it’s what you truly love to do. Even more than that, cycling is how you choose to define yourself. "I AM a cyclist." You drive a forklift to pay the rent. Your colleague, Jim, loves beer, loves working for the brewer and also drives forklift on the second shift. If you asked Jim what he does, chances are he’d stand up, take off his hat, draw it to his bosom and say, "I drive a forklift." That may be just how Jim defines himself, as a forklift driver. More power to Jim, at least he has conviction.

As I sat there staring at Rick through the glimmering champagne and nectar, I couldn’t help but think that I had the perfect opportunity to define myself by what I truly believe I am — an artist … a creator … a writer and performer of stories, songs and plays. But no, I chose to use my day job as a definition. Almost immediately I questioned myself. Why did I answer that way? Perhaps I felt that Rick wouldn’t respect my life’s motivation, so I chose my professional definition to gain a greater hold in the conversation, to gain some respect. As much respect as one can get from working in the beer business. After further thought, I came to the conclusion that by using my day job as a humorous backdrop to how I truly define myself, I might actually gain more respect. With this in mind, I walked away from Rick and ran through the entire conversation again, preparing for the next chance to fail myself … or succeed.

Take Two:

"So what do you do again?" chimed Rick. " I’m an artist," I answered. I was quick in my reply. "Really, what do you do?" I smiled wide and let my soul be known. " Well, I create," I said. "I perform, write plays, stories and songs." Rick was impressed. "Does that pay the bills?" I smiled. "Nope, it doesn’t pay the bills; it satisfies my soul. I move pallets of beer around to pay the bills." Rick raised his glass, still impressed that his acquaintance was an artist. "Cheers," he said.