This obsession with the message

Few years ago, we sat around a table, about twenty of us. They were the new organization we were going to be working closely with, so a good official introduction was the least we could do. We prepared our minute long spiel, who we were, what we did, why we're doing why we're doing, and this was my "why"...

...I spent three years studying multimedia - Design, Animation, Video, 2D, 3D, Sound, etc. At the end of the three years, it came to a point where I had all these tools, but nothing worthwhile to say. It was as if someone had given me a trumpet, but the only song sheets I was given were intoxicating jingles that the pied-piper wrote to persuade all the mice into buying his brand of cheese. This is where my search for the truth and a worthwhile message has led me...

Okay, it wasn't word for word, but essentially that was my story - my answer on my FAQ and my best shot at side-stepping the dreaded holed-in "I work for church..." response.

It's funny how it started as an attempt to seem a lot bigger that I really was - cast as far and as wide a sight as possible. It was a nice, noble, inspiring vision, and it drew the attention off the less than average financial renumerations that came with the package (to which, my stock answer would be "that's the price you pay").

Fast forward to present day, the seed of conviction, where given time and space, grows and consumes you. This is where I find my consumed self, more convinced than ever before that there is too much noise in the air, and everyone needs to go home and revise their parts.

Which brings me to my point of frustration. I am weak. We are all so weak. If one day all 6.5 billion of us decided to stop tooting our horns and reconsidered our song sheets for a collective moment, the silence would drive us to our graves, and the sheer volume of brainwaves generated would make us deaf. I find myself in this dilemma where the soothing sounds of the horns keep us sane, yet all they do is keep us sane - so much so that we craft our ideas of freedom around our selection of trumpet music, and are absolutely petrified at the thought of silence.

So do we stop the music and let our ears ring for a bit? Or is there a more elegant way around? How do you change the tyres on a moving car?

For now, I am humbly grateful that there are people who will keep tooting their horns so that I don't go mad, yet knowing full well that we're all, in one way or another, working ourselves out of our jobs.

May it be that the only music we'll ever need is silence, and that true beauty be found in all that is heard.