Across the bar, I see friends, brothers in choice and struggle.
We lift Lowball glasses of whiskey, amber flames catching the dim light,
to the paths we carved, to money earned and deserved.
I am the founder, the boss, the check-cutter,
the one who profits, not from salary, but from ownership.
I hold the most shares, the weight of decisions resting heavy on my hands.
I am the one they look to when problems rise,
the one who sweats from the stress of a day’s work
even while seated in a chair.
I answer to shareholders, customers, employees.
The uncertainty of tomorrow lives with me alone.
I am self-employed, the master of my autonomy.
I answer to one, beholden to no one.
Time bends to my will; I work when I choose,
go where I wish.
I am a solitary fisherman, casting nets alone,
eating only what I catch.
Failure is mine alone.
Freedom tastes sweet, but lonely.
I am corporate, suited, polished, in a corner office.
Benefits, subordinates, a company card.
I climb the ladder with social grace and education.
My livelihood rests in others’ hands.
I can be fired, laid off, capped in earnings.
I earn a check today, unsure of tomorrow.
Yet despite the different paths, the risks, the lonely fight,
we all still made good money, and shared many laughs over the years.
Laughing at the pain, the sleepless nights, the storms we endured,
toasting the bruises and setbacks, knowing every road we chose had its own rewards.
We won the game we chose to play, and that’s how we keep score.
By: Jordan Rivers, August 2025
Jordan Rivers 