Change

You can't stop change any more than you can stop the suns from setting - Shmi Skywalker

I just thought of one thing that’s permanent. Love. – Olaf

As we discussed a bit in the previous chapter, I’ve come to learn that change, while remaining an inexorable element of our existence (yes, even in Italy), isn’t so readily embraced here. We’ll have ample time later on down the road to discuss just how I ended up in Italia in the first place, but first I want to tell about where I’m sitting, at this very moment, and how change is at the heart of it all.

Oraw is my current employer. Yes, I too find the name weird. Back in the day the founders took the first two letters of their last names and what resulted was an ominous sounding tongue twister that became the company name. Couldn’t they have just chosen a fruit, like Apple? The company holds itself in very high esteem, so it’s no wonder the founders decided to fuse their own names together at the beginning of it all, thus resulting in Oraw. These guys truly believe they’re saving the world. Granted, manure processing machinery is important, but you’d think that pumping something akin to poop through your machines would lead one to exhibit a touch more of humility. On the contrary, my bosses are the self-proclaimed kings and queens of this realm, and we employees are their lowly vassals.

While I may not have the highest pay among the hundred or so positions at Oraw, I’m pretty sure I have the best job. I am essentially a glorified receptionist, or receptionist 2.0, doing everything from answering phones to driving people around to teaching English to some of the staff. It’s not a bad gig. The role is centered around people, and I really do like people, even the ones that try their best to make it hard to like them. Antonio (father-in-law) tells me I shouldn’t trust anyone at the outset, but as I kid growing up I learned the opposite, that if a person has nine faults and one good quality, to forget the nine and focus on the one, essentially giving people the benefit of the doubt and allowing that “good” to come to the surface. After 39 years I must admit that this lesson is still a work in progress, but it has always been a great help in knowing that even a small point of light can be found in the darkest of individuals. Although sometimes you do have to look pretty hard and squint your eyes a bit to get a glimpse.

Most of the people I deal with at work happen to make it easy for me to see the good in them. There’s Rafael the Amazon courier (I usually give him cookies and in return I get mandarin oranges), Antoni, the jovial and portly Polish truck driver (he loves espresso and I have it ready for him as he walks in the door), and Lidia, the insurance agent who comes once a month to help out employees with all their insurance needs. Whether our interactions are fleeting or longer lasting, they are always meaningful. Many of the individuals who come through those doors might be seen by society as unimportant, interchangeable cogs in the never-ending pursuit of more. For me, they are valued. They are friends. They are the important ones.

The more menial side of my job includes work email, the occasional Excel spreadsheet, booking flights for our manure experts, etc. The CEO of the company, who also hapens to be one of the founder’s eldest daughter (I’ll just call her the Queen) seems to not think so highly of my role. On more than one occasion I was reminded of the fact that “Even a child could do your job.” While I am aware of the fact that many children are surely more skilled than I at all things computer, a comment like that coming from a boss seems designed to strike at the very heart of one’s sense of self-worth. First red flag raised.

I’m convinced Oraw’s headquarters must have been designed by a Star wars oficianado, or at the very least a fan of the Evil Empire. Crossing the threshold one could understandably mistake it for the Death Star. Ridiculously tall ceilings, rigid straight lines, sharp edges, black wall panels, mirrors and glass everywhere (ok, that last part might be more 007) contribute to an overall feeling of ‘Get me outta here’. Even the thankfully non-obbligatory Oraw puffy black jackets look like they were made explicitly for agents of the dark side. The point is, entering Oraw makes you feel ill at ease, and anywhere but home. It would be fitting if loudspeakers blared the Darth Vader theme at the opening of the sliding glass doors. The Portland unicycler might fit in here, although ‘weird’ is even less accepted in this realm than it is outside, and that’s saying a lot. I was once told by a colleague to ‘never take any initiative’, or do so at my own peril. I didn’t exactly heed the advice and had a water cooler installed after I got a call offering a 3-week free trial. I thought it might be better than the dozens upon dozens of plastic water bottles half-used and thrown away each day here, as well as maybe encouraging a bit more interaction among colleagues, attempting to import a bit of the water cooler culture. The apparatus didn’t go unnoticed for long by the powers that be, and I was told in a not so kindly manner that this was the first time ever at Oraw that someone did something without asking permission (first time for everything). I got a lot of positive feedback from others about the cooler though, and it was a somber day when the free trial was up and the man came to take it away.

Back to the Death Star. Oraw’s imposing interior design belies the fragility that dwells in the owner’s hearts. They are fearful of any crack forming in their empire, any anomaly in the system they’ve built over generations. I know now that I am that anomaly. I am too much for this system. There’s no space for laughter, little room for joy. So far, attempts to get rid of me have proved futile, but they will try, try again. For the moment though, I’m still here, at my desk, resolute, observing, writing, looking out through those sliding doors at the mountains beyond, wondering just what life has in store, as the glass doors at the entrance keep on sliding, open and shut, open and shut…Oops, they’re stuck open again, better call maintenance.

The illusion of permanence reigns supreme here. Everyone’s favorite snowman Olaf tried to educate us about avoiding this trap in Frozen II, but it’s a lesson hard-learned. NOTHING is permanent (except for love, something sorely lacking here), yet it seems we often sacrifice everything that matters in the pursuit of what is fleeting. Did we learn nothing from the Little Prince, the first book I happened to read in Italian? What is essential is invisible to the eye. I’ll always be grateful for having the opportunity to learn to embrace change and impermanence. I might’ve taken it a bit for granted back when I was living in the US, but I appreciate this gift even more now, where the contrast is clearer, as is the plain from the mountain. No matter how permanent the metallic manure processing machines that surround me may seem, they won’t last forever, and I know my time at Oraw won’t either. For now I’ll just keep writing during my much-appreciated downtime, and when the Empire tries to strike back when I laugh or express joy (why these are seen as detrimental to doing efficient work is beyond me), I’ll just draw on one or another of the very happy memories that life in Italy has given me, and go there in my mind. I’d like to take you with me if you feel so inclined.