It has, occasionally, occured to me that all I’ve done, or have been doing, have been priceless.
A black man who weaves baskets weaves them to the demands of those who would buy them. Once, a man, who weaves, went up to the doorstep of a lawyer – well known in town and rich, surely – to sell his baskets. Without much guilt, or compassion, or empathy, he rejects the man – “No, we do not want any.”
“What!”, the man exclaimed, “Do you mean to starve us?
Having seen his industrious white neighbor so well off, that they only had to weave arguments and by some magic their wealth followed – he told himself: I will go into business; I will weave baskets; it is a thing which I can do. Thinking that when he had made them he would have done his part, and then it would be the white man’s part to buy them. But flawed is he on so many different levels because little did he know that he must make it the white man’s worth to buy. Similarly, such is how the world is now, value for value, value given by those who wish to see value.
But eventually, your life is not yours to live, at least for a while. The black man learns that he has to make it worth the others’ to buy. Over the months, I too have learned to ‘weave’ (not baskets) to make it worth my while, except I avoid the necessity to make
Tbc – probably not yet, flying off to Taiwan right now.