There’s no point doing this column without being brutally honest. And yesterday was brutal. It didn’t take long to surface. Last Wednesday we completed the build phase of the plane project. This Tuesday we moved out of the college to the airfield (where it will be tested and flown). Yesterday, I went in on my own to clean up. A thorough job. Posters down. Tools packed and loaded. Floor swept. Bins emptied. Internet router removed. Overalls bagged up as gifts to the students. Even, before I locked up the black vacuum of my now suddenly purposeless future sucked the oxygen from my brain. Now what? The project ruse had worked. It was a tame way to adjust to the new reality. 90% of it was BAU. I was CEO, my money and my head were on the block. I had to resource and lead a team, deal with the unexpected, solve problems, connect us to the outside world, and today it stopped. I literally switched the lights off as I left the building. I went home and had nothing to do. I manufactured some admin. Booked cars in for maintenance. Updated my details on a savings plan. Booked to have our paddocks sprayed. And …. fell asleep. I woke up, hunched forward in an office chair, like a dead body.
In discussion with my therapist, (quick question; are they meant to laugh?), we agreed that the plane project experiment had two important findings. Firstly, during the nine months we were building it, it had given me a purpose and status outside of work. So, we know that works. Secondly, the moment it stopped I fell out of the sky (to speak planely). Decades and decades of conditioning blended with an alpha personality and an overactive philosophy gland leaves you like this. I now have to find another project. But what? Any old project won’t do. We decided that buying a big rock, a hammer and chisel and carving a giant statue of Harvey the rabbit for two years wouldn’t suffice. My project needs social interaction. Being part of a team carving Harvey would be better. Being the CEO of the team carving Harvey – ideal.
She asked me to explain more about the feeling of tidying up the hangar and closing the door. What was I thinking as I took down the posters, emptied the bins, swept the floor, and packed away the tools and overalls forever? What was I thinking about the students and mentors and the experience we all had together? What were my feelings?
Good one. I was sad and reflective. I explained,
“Only a week earlier the place was full of people and the students and mentors were enjoying the praise and attention of the media and VIPs who were impressed by the plane. Everybody is impressed by the plane. It was a success. Everyone had an experience they will never forget. And, as I leant on my broom, I couldn’t see or hear any of them. It had gone back to being an empty space and, it struck me that it only happened because of me. Last April all of the elements to build a plane had been randomly walking around out there and then I had an idea and that idea brought them all together. Without that it would not have happened and now it has stopped happening. It’s just an empty space, a shared memory, and a plane.
“How do you feel about that?”
“It makes me think it’s absurd”. I did the absurd speech, and why not? it’s a perfect proof.
“It’s meaningless, isn’t it? A small group of people work in a plane bubble and then out it pops, and they all go away. It has no meaning. Nothing we do, anyone, anywhere has a meaning other than in the moment and for the people you do it with”.
“What meaning do you want?”
“I don’t want any. I am just saying that all the God and science people out there who want to make us think there are questions and answers and reasons and meaning need to accept there are none. Life is just absurd. It is wildly unreasonable, illogical, inconsistent and then we die”.
“Are you saying the plane had no meaning to the people who worked on it?”
“No. But that’s my point. They felt it did have a meaning and I am glad they did. They and I all liked it and will look back affectionately on it”.
“So, then it is not absurd?”
“No. Of course it is absurd. It has no meaning or impact. We were just fleas thinking we can steer our little bit a giant planet. Our individual efforts are huge in our perception but meaningless to reality. This conversation we are having right now has no meaning. It will be gone in a minute, leaving no trace of its existence. like everything else”.
Pause. (The silence manoeuvre).
“And another thing. The whole way through the plane project I was thinking. We’ll never get it out of those doors. The engineers had measured them up at the beginning and told me that if we took the wings off and put them back on after, it would fit. I spent 9 months worried it wouldn’t. On the day, I was on camera filming them and it suddenly occurred to me I was watching a live birth from within the womb. Both our children were delivered by section, so I wasn’t present. God (who doesn’t exist) was giving me this as a substitute. The doors opened and the plane nudged out tail first, then it got wedged. So, it was gently pushed back in and turned around and then a strap was bound around the landing gear to force the wheels closer together and ease it back out again. “It’s nearly there” I heard and then “one more push” and, after nine months, there it was out in the sunshine, ready to fly away and begin its life. Unwatched by anyone except me with my camera filming from inside the womb, then the doors automatically closed behind it”.
No need to pursue that symbolism any further.
“What are you going to do next then?”
“I don’t know. But we now know I can’t do nothing. I am not wired up to prune roses or take three months off and rent a villa on the Algarve. It needs to be something absurd that involves leading a team on something that seems meaningful. That’s my objective”.
“Think of that thing before the next sesh”.
“Ok”
