A Story About Nothing

This is not a Seinfeld episode. This is a little story about my lunch break while working in a corporation… somewhere, in a place far, far away (“galaxy” sounds much better, I know), a very long time ago:

I’m good at what I do. I climbed the corporate ladder proving my value every single day. Because in corporations you must prove you are worthy. If you aren't a valuable piece, you don’t gain anything. And without gain, what’s the purpose of all the pain? By pain I mean long working hours, being available every moment if your boss has an emergency, not being allowed to miss the after-hours drinks, and of course… team building. Those long weekends spent with your “team”, no matter what… you, who dare not to attend team buildings, would be condemned for high treason.

So, it was one of those days when I was annoyed before even arriving at work. Groggy head from being so tired that I suspected I was burnt out. Pissed off for having to drive for more than an hour to do work that I could perform better at home. Having to do small talk with total strangers in the elevator, because I couldn’t close the doors before they got inside. This was a promising start to the day.

After four hours of work, being more and more distressed, I had the fantasy to get out of the office, close the door and leave. LEAVE. Without even looking back. And to pretend that I forgot to return. Leave for good, disappear, and end of the story. I had enough, I told myself, I can’t do this anymore. I’m not growing. Money is not enough. I don’t have a life. This is not taking me anywhere. I carry my body like a dead woman walking. I only show up every day for the paycheck. Even if I’m good at what I do, I loathe it.

And with these thoughts buzzing in my head I decided to take my lunch break, and bathe in the sun, maybe I would not make any haste moves that wouldn’t serve me.

I took my jacket and left, hoping to come to my senses. After I left the office, I called my mother. Because a mother should understand. She did show some empathy for a couple of seconds and then described to me what was showing on TV, with all the unnecessary details. My nerves were destroyed. I couldn’t care less, I don’t have a TV, and I don’t read the news and that’s not because I want my mother to narrate TV shows. I hang up on her because I couldn’t hear a thing.

Then I started cursing silently, boiling under pressure. I felt like screaming, crying, or all of these.

As I tried to find a bench in an isolated spot, anxious to finally be alone, I walked by a man wearing a red wig and bright pink lipstick. He was playing violin, hoping to make some money on the street.

His sad song, which I knew so well but couldn’t name at that moment, made me stop and listen. I don’t know what I wanted, I needed to feel something else, for sure. People that walked by stopped too, and there we were, passengers without a name, bonded together by the sad violin song. It seemed that nobody wanted to leave that place as if we all transcended to another world. A little crowd sharing a moment of peace, on the sidewalk of a busy city. It seemed that even time has stopped.

I didn’t care about my phone ringing. For a long moment, I felt something. For a moment that man who tried to find his identity helped me find mine. From that moment my path was revealed to my soul.

I am, I am, I am… I am the happiness, I am this sad song that lifts my heart, I am love, I am, I am…