Salmo Salar

Salmo salar, the Atlantic Salmon,
image c/o nationalgeographic.com

It occurred to me today, as I sat fuming at my desk, methodically, if not emphatically, pushing the keys on my keyboard to the rhythms of Wilson Pickett, that I have a the unhelpful habit of consistently working against myself. Rather than selecting the most logical, easy, well-worn route to any destination, somehow, I almost inevitably choose the path of most resistance. Surely, there must be a singular word for people who consistently work against their own best interests, aside from masochist, but I can't find it. [Unrelated, if you Google "people who consistently work against their own best interests," you will get a slew of articles attempting vainly to explain why anyone votes Republican. I shit you not. Give it a try!]

So, in lieu of a word I can actually put my thumb on, I turn my attention instead to the salmon. The salmon, renowned swimmers against the current, are unique species in that they are anadromous, which indicates that they ascend rivers from the sea, specifically for breeding. Certainly, salmon are not the only fish to have this idiot tendency, but they are the most well-known of our gilled fellow earthlings to do so. They are compelled, by a force beyond their control, to make a perilous and exhausting journey after usually somewhat less than eight years of life, only to hopefully get off with that attractive fish they saw that one time near Greenland, and croak mere days later. Just look at those determined faces above; singular in their pursuit of species propagation!

I have all the desire to inexplicably swim against the current, and not one iota of a reasonable biological imperative for it. So really, I'm very little like the salmon, except that I have also been very tired since about the age of eight. Yes, I can parse out certain aspects of the tendency to work against myself, to make sure that the path I choose is usually the one that isn't simply "less travelled," but in fact more closely resembles the path that the prince (apparently, his name was Philip, which is just hysterical) had to fight through in Disney's animated Sleeping Beauty, metaphorically speaking:

Oooh, that looks lovely. Maybe a nice birdhouse, some crushed stone for the path, it'll be positively pastoral.

I have an innate distrust of nepotism, of meritocracy, and specialization. And while those things are not always tied into one another, when my father recently suggested that I call a former co-worker and old friend of his who now owns an extremely successful marketing firm in the area, I cringed. My belly dropped, my eyes involuntarily rolled. (My eyes roll a lot, it's rather an unfortunate thing, going through life looking like a broken Chatty Cathy doll.)

First and foremost, I loathe nepotism and, should this old friend of Greg's actually offer me a job, wouldn't that be just the most hypocritical thing? But perhaps that's putting the cart well before the old nag. Second, I've noticed that my - erm - eclectic resume relieves me of many an opportunity for an interview. And even when it doesn't, it certainly doesn't go unnoticed. What I mean to say is that I have not exactly been professionally consistent by any means and certainly have not honed any specific marketing skill; rather, I have absorbed as much as I can about as much as I can, which might ultimately be a boon to an employer, but often probably makes me look like a "jack of all trades master of none." Third, and finally, meritocracy is absurd and frustrating and I hate being told to dance for my organ grinder's money. That's what. I would prefer to be an independent business minkey.

All the same, the agency is well-known, exceptionally successful, and would probably be a brilliant place to work. If I earned it. But taking a stand has it price, which is usually my job, and it's also why I have to process data right now instead of sling carefully crafted lines of mostly bullshit interspersed with delightful nuggets of truth or humor.

So tomorrow, I'm calling this man, who my father claims requested that I call him. Regardless of whether he did or not, this salmon is tired. Maybe going with the flow for once, even just a little, isn't such a bad thing. And if nothing else, I'd probably be delicious served with a nice demi-glace over herbed rice with a side of self-respect.