a lesson from someone smarter than i

A man stops me as I walk from my car to the train. He wears the fluoro vest of someone who works in the nearby food factory.

“The car. Crash. Someone crash. In the car. Blue car. Bash. Car.”

He’s disabled.

Hand gestures which urge me to understand. I nod. I make sympathetic sounds. I smile. I thank him for passing on his knowledge. Concern floods me and I worry about what he wants me to do with this knowledge. I walk away. He’s just happy he let me know. He smiles, nods.

I walk past the blue car and the driver’s window is smashed. Not even 7.30 and already one casualty. I chant an extra mantra over my car as I head to the train (ganesh please sit on my car / keep the bad people away from it / make it be here when i get back). Such a bad parking lot. Pot luck, every day.

I realise as I get on the train my messenger has left an impression on me. I think about his life. He’s going to work, he has a job. There wouldn’t be many opportunities for him. He most likely beams every day when he heads to the repetitive factory job many others would find unrewarding. He contributes.

My eye turns inward. What do I do every day? I complain. I bitch. I moan. I kick and scream and rage against the machine. I throw tanties in the padded room of the unfulfilled. I blame my job for turning me into a brain-dead automaton through constantly repetitive tasks, day after day after day. I complain I’m just like a factory worker – shit in, shit out.

Have I disabled myself?

I want to be able to beam every day at the thought of going to work and just quietly contributing to society. But if I don’t strive for more, what kind of life am I going to end up with? But aren’t I just meant to strive for happy? But is happy at the end of wherever more is? What’s this guy done to my brain this morning? It’s turned into a tennis court.

Oh thank christ we’re here. Doors open. The train vomits us out. Hands in pockets. Start the power walk. Autobot on, for another day.