January 25: Actually, I'm not that important
In my neck of the woods, most
people know who I am. I edit the local newspaper so I guess I'm
something of a minor celebrity. When I go out, people greet me and I am
often left wondering who they are ("you did a story on me six years
ago.")
Once I was eating supper in a local restaurant when a man came up to talk to me. He told me that my job was very important. The reason he told me this was he had this nutty conspiracy theory that he wanted me to write about. I spilled no ink over the theory but I did my best to tell him that my job is not "very important." In fact, it's no more important than the jobs of people who dig ditches, bag groceries, shovel snow, or flip burgers.
At another newspaper so many eons ago, one of the reporters used to laugh at his colleagues who thought themselves indispensable.
"If you think you're indispensable, stick your fist in a bucket of water and then pull it out. See the hole you leave? That's how indispensable you are."
I left that newspaper and it continued to flourish. I suppose one day I'll leave my current paper and when I do, it will flourish without me.
And may I say that while I'm happy Shakespeare, Edison, Mozart and Augustine lived, the world would get on quite well had they never even been.
There's a Canadian author named Stuart McLean who is famous for his Vinyl Cafe stories. He once wrote a book called Welcome Home: Travels in Smalltown Canada. In it, he talked to a number of people who weren't famous and never would be. They had gifts but shunned the limelight. One of them even stressed the "importance of not being important."
I like that very much.
I'm a bit of a narcissist, I'm afraid. You have to be a narcissist to write a note every day and invite reader feedback. But I know in my heart of hearts that these notes are not necessary. I am happy if they bring you a smile but I know that without them, and without me, life would go on.
And it's okay. Right now, I'm happy.
Once I was eating supper in a local restaurant when a man came up to talk to me. He told me that my job was very important. The reason he told me this was he had this nutty conspiracy theory that he wanted me to write about. I spilled no ink over the theory but I did my best to tell him that my job is not "very important." In fact, it's no more important than the jobs of people who dig ditches, bag groceries, shovel snow, or flip burgers.
At another newspaper so many eons ago, one of the reporters used to laugh at his colleagues who thought themselves indispensable.
"If you think you're indispensable, stick your fist in a bucket of water and then pull it out. See the hole you leave? That's how indispensable you are."
I left that newspaper and it continued to flourish. I suppose one day I'll leave my current paper and when I do, it will flourish without me.
And may I say that while I'm happy Shakespeare, Edison, Mozart and Augustine lived, the world would get on quite well had they never even been.
There's a Canadian author named Stuart McLean who is famous for his Vinyl Cafe stories. He once wrote a book called Welcome Home: Travels in Smalltown Canada. In it, he talked to a number of people who weren't famous and never would be. They had gifts but shunned the limelight. One of them even stressed the "importance of not being important."
I like that very much.
I'm a bit of a narcissist, I'm afraid. You have to be a narcissist to write a note every day and invite reader feedback. But I know in my heart of hearts that these notes are not necessary. I am happy if they bring you a smile but I know that without them, and without me, life would go on.
And it's okay. Right now, I'm happy.
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