We live in a world of Fake. Food substitutes, enhanced body parts, simulated wood. All different ways of saying the same thing: Fake. Some of these fakes are good for us, some are clearly bad. But, for better or worse, none are the real thing. Some fakes are harder to spot: some of the communities and relationships we surround ourselves with. The feelings of "must have" or "must do" we enslave ourselves to. None are real, yet their effects on us are all too tangible.
I have thought a lot about Fake this week, as I struggled through my very real reactions to constructed realities. I have stressed about work, reacted to the negativity surrounding the artificial corporate culture I must endure in order to make money that will only exist as numbers on a statement. None are real, but they keep me up at night.
I thought about Fake on Monday when, at the behest of the powers that hold sway over my artificial existence, I instructed my employees to sell Palms. Not Queen Palms or Canary Island Palms. Not Mexican Fan Palms, Coconut Palms or Majestic Palms. Fake Palms. Palms you hold in your hand and put in your pocket. A Palm designed to help you connect to mail that is not on paper, have conversations with people who are nowhere near you. A Palm to make your connection to a fake internet community easier. A Palm in name only.
Perhaps the Fake would be much less obvious if I didn't have real Palms at home. Palms that are fifty feet tall and too wide to wrap my arms around. Palms that several men with real jobs had awakened me on Sunday morning to prune.
They spent a day scaling these giants in my yard, wielding chainsaws while hanging 30 feet above the ground, supported by nothing more than a rope around their waists and spikes on their feet. All day they worked, sweating under a thick layer of dirt and sawdust. They did it for money they could hold in their hands. They did it, I'm sure, for people who depend on them in a very real way. They did it so that every day this week, I could drive home after the sun had gone down, pull up my drive and think:
"Even in the dark, real is better."
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