I'm sitting in a small room with six chairs in it, glass on three sides.
I wait for my car oil to be changed, and I see an old man standing n
ext to his car, hood open, his hands in his pockets, looking around
like he didn't know there was an engine in there. The mechanic sa
ys a few things to him, asks a question or two, and the old man do
esn't have a clue. He looks exactly the way you would picture any o
lder gentleman with a BMW; he's balding, a little overweight, form
ally dressed but his clothes don't fit very well, he keeps looking at
his smartphone, and he's wearing sunglasses around his neck. Wat
ching this, I realize why exactly I don't aspire to be anything like th
is man- he's no better off than me. Neither of us knows anything a
bout the vehicles we drive, we’re both thinking about how much it
is going to cost us, and chances are, neither of us is comfortable w
ith what is sitting in the bank. This man isn't so different from me,
now. He is older, has more stuff, less youth, his health is average,
but he still worries about tomorrow every waking moment of toda
y, and I refuse to play that hand if ever it is dealt to me.
But I may be as presumptuous as I am cynical.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment