Milton Woods
Different day
Here I was sitting at the same old bus stop, going to the same old job that I've had for 20 years. I can remember the day like it was yesterday; I got my degree in accounting and it was the happiest day of my life. All I thought of was the money to be made in this career. The tremendous satisfaction of having a stable career and knowing without a shadow of a doubt where your paycheck is coming. I guess its true what they say money can’t buy you happiness. Sure it was fun the first couple of years, great pay and benefits, but soon after my financial success I found myself wanting more. The painful confines of my desk had created a longing inside me for something more, some excitement, some wonderment, something spontaneous. The secure routine that I had so carefully created, now a tireless circle that I am so desperately trying to get out of. I started taking the bus about 10 years ago. Not because I didn’t have a car but to try to deviate from the routine that I had been following for years. At first it seemed to work, you never know what you're going to encounter on public transportation. A fight here and there, a bird that you have never seen before, a casual conversation with a stranger. But after a while even the randomness of public transportation seemed to be routine. I suddenly began to make the realization that I never even wanted to be an accountant, I guess it was just kind of a formality that I would follow in my fathers footsteps. Thats all my parents ever wanted for me, a good, stable and conservative, career. In highschool my art teacher thought that I should take up art, I was a very skilled artist but my parents were certain that wouldn't be a very productive skill for my future; so in turn I thought that as well. But today setting a the bus stop was a little different as I notice a couple arguing outside of an open apartment window. They were not such a good looking couple, the man had a haggard look about him and the woman no different.
I could somewhat see inside their apartment, their walls were spraypainted some type of graffiti art and I could see what looked like a camera on a tripod. From what I could see their apartment was a collection of objects that any person with an iota of style wouldn’t put in a room together. I pure disjointment of the room reminded me of an abstract painting that I had seen once when I was younger.They couple however were arguing about the rent and how they “will never get out of this city”. As chaotic as the scene was to me it was this sort of excitement that I had been craving. The pure pleasure of the unknown. I looked down at my briefcase and thought ,” the pure pleasure of the unknown.” I took out my phone and email my boss. I start the email subject line “ My Letter of Resignation.”
