After spilling a cup of tea on a signed agreement and absent-mindedly shredding a (very important and unpaid) invoice, I decided I needed a break.
One of my favourite things to do when I’m stressed is to take a walk. There isn’t much scenery around my office building though, so I spend a lot of time in the four-level, above-ground parking lot. The lot is almost always deserted, which I love. Being able to wander around undisturbed gives me a much-needed feeling of invisibility.
I was making my way around the first level when I heard music, a jazzy melody coming from what sounded like a live saxophone. I followed it up to the fourth floor and there, in an isolated corner devoid of cars, stood a mousey-looking, middle aged-man. His hands moved with expert precision over keys of his saxophone and he was playing the most beautiful music.
He looked like your typical office dweller, complete with an employee ID tag on his belt loop, wrinkled dress pants and a bald spot in the middle of his head. A saxophone case was on the floor with a blackberry tossed carelessly inside. Sheet music was on a ledge, held in place with a Tim Horton’s coffee cup.
I pictured the man driving into work that morning with his saxophone tucked under his seat, excitedly plotting the perfect time to sneak away from his desk.
The whole thing left me feeling sad.
People tell you to get a full-time job and buy a house and that’s supposed to make you happy. What they don’t tell you is that the “stability” you get from being an employee and the mortgage that keeps you at a sub-par job for thirty years comes at the cost of your true aspirations.
I don’t want to have to sneak away and live my dreams for a few minutes a day. I want to live them all of the time, but I guess that’s a luxury most of us can’t afford.
I went back the next day and the man was gone. I haven’t seen him since. I guess he has more important things to do with his time.
I guess we all do.
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