La Torche

This morning I saw a security guard near the Board of Trade staring up at the tops of buildings. His hands were fiddling with a piece of paper as he looked skyward. There seemed to be longing in his face. Something that said, “I’m dreaming of something far better than this security gig. I’ve got plans”.  I was tempted to look up myself, but was too focused on just getting to cursed work on time.

By the time I got to my cubicle I was already inundated with mindless work and endless monotonous tasks I had almost forgotten about this guy staring hopefully at the sky. I suddenly found myself hating him; which is unusual because I don’t even know him. I was jealous of his skyward hopeful face. There was something in me that wanted to grab him and say, “This is where you are! This is what you’re doing! Wake up!”

I feel terrible for it. I shouldn’t feel that way at all. It was an awful feeling; especially with the Olympics going on right now. And that made me feel even worse. There’s so many young people that dedicated their lives to pursuing excellence in some sport, be it Table Tennis, dressage, or hurling large objects across a field. Someone in their lives told them they could do it and gave them the tools to make their dreams come true. A coach, a parent, an uncle, someone told them it was possible and pushed them to excel.

And here I was imagining myself telling a humble, slightly portly security guard that he couldn’t look skyward with awe and perhaps imagine himself on the parallel bars, winning Gold. It was a horrible feeling and has put me in a very foul mood as I sit here in my ugly cubicle. It made me wonder where I faltered in my pursuits. It made me wonder when practicality got in the way of the achievement of a dream or goal. When did I accept my fate as a worker drone in an ugly cubicle performing mindless tasks for a soulless bitch corporation?

Why didn’t anyone hand me a torch and say, “Go”? I know I received the greatest encouragement from my family, my mother; I’m not criticizing the support they gave me.  I love them for what they tried to encourage me to do. I just wish I knew that moment when I gave up. When the accumulation of money to buy food and beer became the motivating factor in this meagerly survivable life I have built myself. How did I lose sight of the lighting of my own Olympic torch and wind up in this damnable cube, typing away about things I do not care about?

It’s a mild self loathing brought about by the realization that I hated someone else’s dreams. Even worse, I don’t even know what that chubby security guard was actually thinking about; I was merely projecting my own insecurities and thoughts into his fat brain. Which is just as damnable as this cubicle.

I’ll finish my mindless tasks and then continue my search for something better. Something to smile about as I look skyward.