Saturday, August 4, 2012

Life speculation

Do you know about - Life speculation

Could there be any value to an venture you perceive as never gift a return? The question unexpectedly flowed through my mind like the tiny ripples which move over a pond and never seem to arrive at their destination, as my girlfriend and I walked out of the bank.

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While getting into the car, she remarked, "I was surprised you genuinely put that money in your account. I conception you would spend it right away."

"Well," I hesitated, "it was an unexpected reimbursement check. Putting it in my catalogue will at least let it grow a little: it's an investment."

Satisfied, she nodded, and we pulled out of the parking lot. But the determined drive home, a policy of perpetual motion, seemed a strange prelude to the year I would soon lead, especially when I overestimated my speed while pulling into the carport and made abrupt caress with the far wall.

I had appropriate a higher position in my firm and, despite its increased demands, maintained my personal religious doctrine of all the time helping my colleagues when my time, talents, and abilities were called upon, regardless of either they were covered by my job article or pay scale.

One of my employees was dealt a particularly curious hand: suffering a personal loss earlier in the year and then a car accident a few months later, he had erroneously identified alcohol as his temporary savior, and I volunteered to help, donating countless hours to reserve him any way I could.

When a new policy was implemented, several employees exhibited mystery in understanding, and adapting to, it. Although it was not within my jurisdiction, I nevertheless devised short training modules and conducted several impromptu classes while time which was otherwise devoted to lunch.

Because I had spent several years developing writing skills, and because I had apparently earned a reputation for the craft, many often approached me to construct needed resumes and other correspondence for them-none of which had any connection to my function. In any case, all things I gave, I did so freely.

My professional path led to a virtual collision-with reality--at the end of the year, however, when my firm was acquired by another, and cost-reduction synergies immediately targeted the redundant administration teams. I, naturally, belonged to one of them.

The day after my layoff letter became effective, I woke with no where to go. Although concerns about unemployment payment and my time to come direction rippled through my mind, I was at least collect in the foundation of loyal friends I had created over the years. Now, with my own fall, it was conceivable that I would need them for support.

Soon missing the professional life I had led for two decades and the many people I had met while it, I began to caress them to see how they themselves were getting along. Honestly, I conception they would already have done the same for me.

I telephoned, but they were never home. I left messages on their answering machines. They never returned them. I sent emails, inquiring about their most recent endeavors. But my in-box never carried their names. Perhaps my arrival was wrong, I thought: instead of contacting each one on an personel basis, maybe I should petition to the group spirit we had had and send a coarse invitation to all so that we could get-together, reminisce, and have a few laughs.

I proposed a dinner on a confident date and requested a response so that I could gauge how many would attend it. But, as that date approached, it became apparent that none would. I would have been happy, mind you, with a "sorry, can't make it," but I did not even receive that-only silence-to be interpreted.

Confused, frustrated, and hurt, I called my girlfriend, who had more of a philosophical and religious penchant than I, that evening, and we agreed to meet for coffee the following day. "I have something I genuinely need to talk about," I preluded.

"I don't understand it!" I exclaimed, as we sat down at the table. "I gave so much and so freely to all those people! I gave my time and talents. Yet, not one of them seems to remember what I did for them. It's as if they used me for the moment-for anyone they could get out of me-and when it was over, they dropped me like I never existed. I feel as if I have no use or value. It was all take!"

She hesitated, stirring her coffee, and then asked, "Why, then, did you do all those things for them?"

"Well-well," I started, sipping my beverage, "because I cared about them-because I wanted to help them-because I knew I had talents they didn't, but needed-because these talents came very genuinely and simply to me-because it took no exertion whatsoever to use them..."

Pausing until I had calmed down, she responded, "We all seek, either we are aware of it or not, to be most like the One Who created us. After all, who else could we be like? And it seems like you did just that. You cared. You helped. You gave. And you gave freely. You used the very talents He gave you to use. either you know it or not, you learned more than any of those people ever will. You are genuinely the winner. You evolved to the point where you acted the most like your Source. And, like Him, you gave without ever expecting to get anyone in return."

Only slightly mollified, I countered, "But that's where you're wrong. That's where God and I are different. I didn't get anyone in return, but I anticipated to!"

She paused once more, putting her stirrer on a napkin. "Maybe you still will," she suggested.

"Maybe I still will?" I yelled. "I called those people! I left messages! I wrote to them! I sent them invitations! Not one of them even answered me! What kind of thanks or recompense is that?"

"Do you remember when you deposited that reimbursement check in your bank catalogue last year and said it was an investment?"

"Ye-eah," I hesitated, not understanding the connection, "but I also got a return on it-later on."

"Maybe you still will," her promising voice delivered.

"Still will!" I spat. "Do you know how many months it's been since I've seen those people-and none of them have even responded to me. What kind of time are we talking about?"

Looking at me with empathetic eyes, she quietly stated, "Like the money you put in the bank with the intention of earning interest on it, your life is also an investment. The more you give, the more you will get back."

"But, as you can see," I disagreed, "that's not true. If it is, then when will I receive my so-called 'reward' for the good I did?"

And in the most solemn voice I have ever heard her use, she whispered, "No one ever said it had to be in this life."

Instinctively, I looked toward the sky.

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