You get in the car each morning. Repeating the same routine. You drive until you reach the tracks you go over every single day. But this time, before you can jump over the tracks, the red lights start to flash. The barriers come down, you hear the conductor pull on the whistle, getting louder as it moves forward. Now you must sit in the car, alone. You have time to think, about that routine you go through every morning; the same time you wake up, the sweatpants you claim to be pajamas, the same breakfast, same coffee cup, the same order of coffee with just a little bit of cream. It even swirls the same as you pour it in.
You’ve built your life from nothing to attain what you thought would be a better life, but deep down you wonder if there is more out there. Is there more that a 9-5 job? Will I ever buy a different pair of sweatpants from Marshall’s? You never take the time to daydream, to stretch your limitless imagination; to envision a future. Suppressing each roaming thought through endless paperwork. The boss spits each complaint in your face at every monthly review. Even though you always show up on time, always have a clean pressed shirt, freshly cut hair and shined shoes. Arriving to work on time, and trudging through your inbox you can never seem to empty. It is never be good enough. You force yourself not to dream, afraid of failure. Even though a part of you wishes to tell your boss to eat a “suck-it-sandwich”. Always following the fast-moving stream of normality. You are always left bankrupt and empty. Not making enough money to keep the lights on; and for what? Being stuck living a life of mediocrity, living how other people do in the “real world”. Instead of stepping through the doors of the “free world”.
You think about it sometimes, while you see the endless graffiti marked on the boxcars that claim, “Kevin was here”. But where am I? In a corporate draining job, as Kevin declares his favorite shades of blue. You’ve always wanted to break free of the opinion of others, of your family and friends. You wish you never listened to those who told you that you were never good enough to reach your dreams. “You will never climb the steep corporate ladder and have the luxurious life everyone dreams of.” The little bit of money you work endless for, barely enough to make ends meet, though the ends of two candles will always burn away from each other. Always melting wax on the carpet covered with cookie crumbs you bought at the 99-cent store, to stuff down your ambition to live your vision. You never ask yourself what you really want, because it’s too far to reach from the desk littered with the paper work that conditions you into discipline of the powerful suits.
Have you ever listened to the soft touch of a grand piano keys, hear the melody of a dream? From the dreamer who chased their desires? The crescendos and the staccatos, flowing colorful emotions that you never allowed yourself to feel. The last note suffocated by the screaming train, and you are stuck thinking if you were to lay on those railroad tracks, that the world would actually see the train wreck you have always been. Have you ever turned on the radio and emerge yourself into a singers voice, the strum of a guitar, that one last note leaving you searching through your soul to find a life that is worth living? Instead of sitting in your beat-up car, hearing only the whistle that drowns that last musical note of solace, of peace.
If you listen, you can find yourself mindful of what life could be. You can see yourself telling all the people who doubted you, “I refuse to give up on this dream that will always be stuck inside me, waiting for the day I finally wake up.” You want a life full of a traveling imagination. You want to have the inspiration of the graffiti artist that told the world that they were there. You want to be with those who deface the brand of the corporate drones with their favorite shades of blue. You would rather stand alone, instead of standing in a crowd that push and shove you into the drains of society norms.
How precious are the people that put on the shoes of their own destiny? That live on that last musical note, continuing the song. The aspiring artist that paints what they see, and never looks away; never hindering their work into censor. The writer that scribbles away on a beat-up page of their coffee stained notebook that they carry in the pocket that’s close to their heart; that tells them the secrets to being honest and true; that speaks the words of kindness and compassion. You want to tap into the potential you possess instead of wasting time trying to empty that overflowing inbox. What kind of life is it to always live in the same routine? The same sweatpants you claim are pajamas; the same breakfast every morning; the coffee mug that always beckons you with inspirational quotes you never care to read. Because you let the sound of the loud, slow moving train catch your last ounce of attention, and you worry about being late to your mediocre job. You’re never living, just moving. The same shoes, the same neatly pressed shirt, never having personality in your stitches; the same blending seams.
You never wanted to call yourself a follower, but isn’t that what you are?