I walked forward through the aisle at the book store. Many hours of previous days have passed me unknowingly and often while I perused the catchy titles, and today’s no different. Each one appears to say the same thing differently, and nothing of import. “Next in line,” the sale person says at the cash register. The one customer addressed constituted the “line”. A lot of political books, and novelty types lined the shelves after failing to catch the needed attention during the election and holiday season. I turned the corner looking at the display on the end cap. No banner or guidance necessary, these books were all about turning your life around. The bright, not so illustrious titles were printed across the foreheads of some celebrity or guru with a knowing smile on his or her face. Some of the books were about the body, and the others about the mind. Don’t forget the soul I thought, or have you already cashed that in? There they are, a whole section on how to save your soul. Through various forms of spiritualism. Staving off despondency, I followed my feet to the in-store café for a coffee.
I collected my coffee, and myself and took a seat to maneuver through the thick haze that had encumbered my thoughts. The conversations varied from idle chatter, to the economy. I have trouble wrapping my head around it myself. If I was like my father, I would’ve burdened the two ladies behind me with my opinion on when the economy would turn around. But I’m not my father. For the good of both of us. . .
The coffee did little to raise my spirits, or my alertness yet I persisted. I considered a pastry, although not usually my thing. I was looking for some catalyst of inspiration. For this, I’m indiscriminate and adventurous which works well together. The old standbys were not available. A movie that I hadn’t seen already, or a friendly face from the past. A girl talking into her earpiece and her maddening laughter shook me from my discontent, and propelled me away from the seating area, and out of the store.
I walked the sidewalks covered by the breeze-way, still sipping my coffee in earnest. The parking lot was largely vacant securing me my nearby parking place, even though I usually don’t mind the walk. Even in the cold rain, I like to take in the atmosphere. My form of spiritualism in the morning I guess. I wandered ahead, considering the perfect context to put my present state of mind within and despite my general understanding of it–I was ineffective.
My thoughts wove everywhere from the woebegone economy, the insipidity of the grind, and the general degradation of the very idealism that defined myself a decade ago. No matter how many rungs I ascend on the ladder, will it be enough? I’ve asked myself that question time and time again.
If you hazard the arduous task of turning over enough stones, one can find inspiration in the human condition. Some days they present themselves more abundantly, and others they are scarce. In times when the world is suffering, and times get tough, during wars and depression, and bouts with overwhelming doubt people reflect those sentiments back on others. Then there are those that repel those ideas, and forge ahead. Heroes of the good fight. Torchbearers for progress. Battle weary believers of the kindness in humanity that never say no. Some have sold their experiences in hopes of turning a profit, or furthering an agenda. I passed a few of these charlatans walking the crowded corridors in the book store. It’s hard, even for the discerning to sift through these exertions on credulity. These byproducts of hope.
My phone rang, jerking me back into reality (I must find a less officious ring-tone). “Hello, I said.” Later, I now consider the familiar yet new trails I blazed in my mind. Then I qualified them against the metrics of reality. I always hated math, yet the answer for this one doesn’t seem so complex nor encouraging.
“Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.”
Ernest Hemingway
“Why so Serious?”
The Joker
"In life you have to do a lot of things you don’t fucking want to do. Many times, that’s what the fuck life is… one vile fucking task after another."
Al Swearengen
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