get a job, you laggard

The internet is wise beyond measure.

The other night I watched the only episode of Netflix’s The Crown that has even vaguely interested me. Like most episodes, a dual-pronged story arc threads its way through the hour to conjoin in a grand denouement at the end of the tale.

The first prong is a commentary on Queen Elizabeth’s Christian faith and how it informs her duties as monarch. In the process, she has two encounters with American evangelist Billy Graham. (In the future, I may write about how the issue of forgiveness plays into her faith.)

The second prong is far less interesting, but more relevant to today’s essay. The Duke of Windsor, wearying of his lost powers following his abdication, decides in his 60s that he needs to find a job to make something meaningful of his life. Sort of a delayed mid-life crisis. Like so much else in that man-boy’s life.

Alex Jennings’s portrayal of the maudlin musings of the fallen king triggered that little kernel of doubt that hides in the back of every retiree’s memory closet. “Should I be doing something different with my life?”

And right on cue, the internet came to my rescue.

In my inbox was an invitation from the Kimble Group, which I infer is a head hunter shop, inviting me to join the Law Office of Michael J. Crawford in Waxahache. I skipped over the possibility of practicing law with the Phantom of the Opera and focused on the place name.

Waxahache. Was I being invited practice law amongst the Wixariti with their peyote culture? After all, I had participated in the law suit that challenged Oregon’s restriction of peyote use in religious rituals. My fame must have preceded me.

No such luck. Waxahache is in Texas. Just outside of Dallas. My interest meter plummeted to zero.

Or almost zero. When I read the job description, my meter pegged. Below zero.

The job the Kimble Group “thought [I] might be interested in” was an associate attorney job. Essentially the type of job I would have taken had not my law school friend Ron Gray and I decided to open our own law firm in the late 1970s. We did the same work, but we were our own bosses.

These job notices are good for me. They remind me why it was wise for me to have left law at the top of my game. But that is just one aspect of why I am glad I left when I did.

This morning, while practicing my Spanish, I listened to the lyrical sounds of the mornings here. Birdsong of all descriptions. Roosters. The occasional bus or motorcycle. The stereo next door cranked to distortion levels.

All blending together to let me know a challenging day spreads out in front of me. If the Duke of Windsor had simply paused to enjoy life as it is, he would not have ended up being the black sheep of the family.

And it makes me far more content than being a Broadway star’s tea boy.