Oh, you don’t know what I’m talking about? Okay, I’ll ‘splain.
I came to the shocking realization this morning that I am part of the rat race.
You heard me. The rat race.
I don’t know how this happened, but as I walked to work this morning, I turned off my headphones and looked around – it was a beautiful day, you know. Guess what I saw? A bunch of other people doing the Exact. Same. Thing.
Even walking in the same direction. And not looking where they were going. It was as though no one saw the person next to them, and if they did, it was because they stopped short in front of them and tripped them or something.
What the hell happened! Every day I do the same thing. Literally. I wake up, 6:25AM, get in the shower, dry my hair, walk my dog, drive to the train, sit next to the same old man every day, get the same cup of coffee from the same place and walk down the same street, to the same office, doing the same mundane thing over and over and over and over again, with 10 million other people.
I won’t get into my ride home, I don’t want you to fall asleep.
In all honesty, I truly cannot complain. I’m fortunate enough to have a home, a dog with a waggy butt, a job in a solid company (says a lot in this economy, apparently). I have good coworkers and a decent paycheck, a supportive and loving family (lets not delve too deep into that bag of crazy now, though), and a solid group of friends. I’ve got both my legs, my health, my bike Hondo, a car I like driving, and enough scratch to get some beers and a nice dinner once or twice a week if I so choose.
I gain pleasure from the stupid joke my friend emails me mid-day, or a picture of my nephews doing something silly, or the smile the woman at Tim Horton‘s wears after she starts making my coffee before I order it – she knows what I like. It brightens my morning when the old man I sit next to on the train says “Good Morning!” when he sits down and “Have a nice day!” as he gets off the train. And I just love how every morning the guy giving out the AM New York paper by the 1 train tells me I’m pretty, and the door man at the Empire State Building tells me to have a wonderful day. Even though my dog pees on the floor sometimes and barks at my friends when they come over, every time I open the door she grins and wags her tail like she hasn’t eaten in three months and I’m a T-Bone. My cat purring is probably the most relaxing thing I’ve ever heard, and I love the sound of a freshly opened bottle of beer (shut UP I’m not a drunk).
…now, is that the American Dream? What if that’s all we get? What if I want more? What more could I want to get? What if I DIDN’T have a job? Or didn’t have enough money to pay my rent? What if I started doing something else? Maybe I’m destined to work in Sales Support for a Financial Solutions company for the rest of my life. Or maybe I can be Chandler Bing and quit my job at 37 to become an intern somewhere at my dream job.
Crap, I don’t know what my dream job is! Yikes. I guess I’m just a mouse trying to get some cheese – and I want Brie. Or Bleu Cheese. Or swiss. Or Land-o-Lakes white american!