of the quiet mid-life crisis
We take so much around us for granted; we forget to treasure what is right in front of our eyes. It’s easy when you assume the role of a working drone and work, precisely to get that sum of money every month, and perhaps for some of us, splurge on our hobbies because I earned it.
I try to tell myself that I’m in this job for a good reason, and that is to serve. But how long can one toil, especially when it seems as though the audience barely accepts anything rational except what they want to hear? Last week, during the usual 10-minute walk home, I thought about leaving so that I no longer need to listen to the ungrateful words (though I understand that there isn’t unhappiness without a pinch of truth) of the vocal netizens, so that I can answer the question that has run its rounds in my head: why should I?
Why should I, and my colleagues, work long hours to address your concerns when no one addresses ours? We have the same worries, we face the same stress, the same higher cost of living, and in fact, we take the same crowded trains. I’m trying, as much as I am merely one foot soldier attempting to patch the possible gaps and improve what can be improved upon, but I’m trying. I just wonder why we let your harsh words get to us when you don’t really give a damn about anyone but yourself?
Certainly a cue for my mid-life crisis, sort of. And most certainly a good reason for me to take things slow, look at the beautiful weed of a flower that blooms on the walls of one neighbour’s house. Most certainly.