At One with the Universe

My son, with more than two-thirds of his life ahead of him, or maybe three-quarters God willing, is fearful of making the wrong career choice. I can't blame him. As America is perched on the brink of yet another war in another foreign land where people run around in curtains and flip-flops hurling rocks and firebombs in the streets to release their frustrations over the fact that there isn't really more to life, I too am considering employment possibilities. It's even slimmer pickings for people my age; after all, it's way too late for me to become a brain surgeon. And while I don't really know what I want to do, I am clear on what I don't want:
     1. I refuse to take a job that requires me to attend meetings of more than three people. Nothing gets done. There is just a lot of settling in, passing out of papers that will then be collected back at the end, pouring of coffee, choosing of donuts or maybe energy bars, and chitchat.
     2. I refuse to fill out an application detailing where I went to high school, college, etc. How can that matter now? As for listing my last six employers and their addresses and phone numbers, that's just silly: My last six employers have likely been dead for years.
     3. I cannot write for a website that requires me to submit ten articles of 600 words each every week, and get paid $5 per article. Do the math: 6,000 words for $50 is like basically nothing per word, or roughly less than a pittance.

So I remain unemployed. I read and paint and write. I walk. These are all good things, but in a capitalist society where money is the measure of success, I am a failure. This can be disheartening. The only positive spin is that I am able to relate to the universe of the downtrodden masses who are also unemployed. If you look at it in a certain way, that makes me at one with the universe. That's at least something. Now if I just throw in a few yoga classes, I'm downright enlightened.