POLAR SUIT

‘What’s your biggest pet peeve’, he asked yesterday evening as we drove back from his kickboxing class.

‘I don’t know’, I answered. We had recently discussed this very topic, but at the moment nothing came to me. Until this morning.

‘Getting out of the shower into the cold’ I replied as we hurried to get breakfast ready.

‘I hate that too’, my son replied.

In my dream bathroom, I would have heated floors and heating, in general, that works. And a heated towel bar, something uncommon in the States. It seems the only room in these apartments that get heated is the open area encompassing the living room and kitchen. The draft in the bedrooms, from poorly insulated windows, being more noticeable in the winter months.

This morning was filled with a sense of urgency. Of trying to shove spoonfuls of hot creamy wheat cereal down our throats as my son had an early morning band practice before his regular classes. After we emptied our bowls, I grabbed my jeans and black sweater, my regular daily ‘uniform’, and drove him across the street so he could be on time.

Once home, I finished the last of my Bosnian coffee. The Croatian Franck coffee was long gone, so that was my second choice. Then I thought of my other pet peeve. Having to scurry about with a sense of dread towards a lack of meaning. The dread of having to sit in an office in the drafty hallway. Bundled up in my winter down jacket. Sometimes with the hood drawn over my head.

‘Alright Polar Suit’, he handed me his expense report.

‘I don’t do these anymore’, he reached for the papers to take them to the office of the person who does them.

‘I’ll take them’, I continued. ‘It gives me something to do’, I mumbled as I walked the twenty steps to the office and then walked back to sit and count the hours until I go home, having completed all of my work already.

I had scheduled my car to be inspected tomorrow morning, intending to work from home again, but had to reschedule as the text came in reminding me to work from the office three times a week. And again, I wonder why. I just don’t get it.

I then recalled the article I came across on Monday about the Gravity CEO, Dan Price, who responded to his employees’ wish to work only from home with ‘Do whatever you want. As a CEO, what do I care? If you get your work done, that’s all that matters.’ Brilliant! Where do I apply, I thought. It also reminded me of the IT Crowd episode ‘Iran’. The conversation between Douglas and his date April at the restaurant when he said ‘I don’t care…Doesn’t bother me’. But I digress.

In the end, that the work is being done is exactly what matters. And if most of us were honest, we could shave hours off our work day if we left out the chit chatting, the scrolling of social media, and a general dragging out of our work to make it fit neatly in the eight required hours.

So, my dear children, listen very carefully. Please, for the love of God, find meaningful work for your future. Don’t settle. Don’t do what someone else wants you to do just because you will make a lot of money. Money is necessary but it is not everything. You will essentially be working for over 50 years of your lifetime, assuming you live a full life, so be very careful in selecting a path which will lead you to a satisfying life. Otherwise, you will dread every Monday morning. When the moment you awaken, you start the countdown to Friday. And then the days repeat. Until one day, when you’re lying on your deathbed, you think ‘what was the point?’. Make a meaningful life for yourself and don’t listen to the naysayers.

In high school, when asked ‘Where do you see yourself in 5 years?’, I answered ‘As an interior designer’ because that was something I truly enjoyed and was good at since childhood. Since that 2-story mouse house floor plan I drew and built from construction paper in second grade. The one which ended up being displayed in the school library in Oregon.

Years later, I would go on to design an interior of a house in seventh grade, compiled in a large notebook. Complete with samples of the wallpaper, tiles, carpet, and paint colours. In high school, a friend and I designed and built a large Roman house from wood and foam core, along with all of the furniture and bedding that I sewed and put together. A few years after that, I drew up a floor plan for a one-story home I hoped to build for myself. That was my passion. It did not feel like work. And that is the key.

But I was foolish to listen to others tell me ‘It’s competitive. Get a job in business because it’s a stable income’. What they left out was the cost. Your soul. The boredom draining the life from you. Slowly dying a little each day as you wonder if it’s too late to make a change. No. I don’t believe that it’s ever too late to follow your dream. Perhaps not an interior designer, but something else that sparks creativity. Because what is life without creativity and imagination and meaning?