I Used to Think 8 to 5 was a Fable

(Reposted from an earlier published diary)

I just completed my first day at a brand new job. In retrospect, it was not a bad day as first days go. I took this job primarily to get out of the rat-race that I had endured in Dallas. It only took a few years in the Dallas traffic for me to realize that road rage was simply a tactic to dispel intense, mind-numbing boredom. It was kind of like license plate bingo and demolition derby put together. My car became my life. Each afternoon, I would greet my wife hello by kissing her picture that was mounted to my dash right next to the kids’ most recent school mug shot. I would call home on the cell phone before I even started the car. My daughter, Taryn usually answered. “Hi, Daddy,” she would say.

“Hi, Hon. Is your mother nearby?”

“She is trying to find her keys. Jacob is trying to help her find them.”

“Honey, Jacob is a boy. He inherited my male pattern blindness. You need to help your mother find her keys, but let me talk to her while you do that.”

“Okay, here she is. Love you, Daddy.”

“Love you too, Hon. Say hi to Jacob.”

This conversation, or one very similar to it, would take place each afternoon. The subsequent conversation with my wife would be just as harried as she rushed out the door in route to one of the plethora of activities. Dinner was usually in the oven when I got home, but my dining room was normally back in my car. Eating on a table was a luxury I couldn’t afford if I wanted to be on time to whatever obligation I had.

Well, today I called home at five o-clock. Taryn answered the phone.  “Hi, Hon. Let me talk to Mom.”

“Oh, hi Daddy. Sure thing. Are you having a good first day?”

“Yes, I am, and I don’t even have to work late.”

“Wow, so when will you be home?”

“Well, I’m on my way out, and I’m not sure what rush hour is like, but I’m guessing I should be home by 5:20.” Silence fell over our conversation until I heard my daughter yell, “Jacob, put a plate on for Dad!”

The real recognition that things were changing was when I heard Jacob ask from a distance, “A plate for who?”

Yes, indeed, things will be different in this new job, in this new town, in this new life. As I got in my car this evening to go home, I looked at the pictures of my family still stuck to my dash. I said a quick prayer of thanks as I took them off and stuck them into my wallet.

With head upon my pillow I think about my day.

Random shades of yellow gold and red fill my piece of life.
The day floats like a leaf into my memory,
falling into place, interlocking with the past.

Memories of days gone by push away sleep.
I pick out pieces and study their hues.
Some are bright and happy
Some are dark and full of shadows.

Stepping away from my picture
The lines between the individual days blend
And my perspective changes.

My picture is not random shadows and light.
Each piece is but a part of a larger work.
The work is not complete
I know not the finished size
But now I see that the shadows serve to give texture to the subject which is my life.

I think each experience in life is like a puzzle piece. Each day a new piece falls into place moving one step closer to the complete picture that is our life. Each piece is either a small part of good or a small part of bad. It is up to us to decide which type of piece forms the foreground and which type forms the background. And the missing piece, the one that has fallen out of the box? Spend a little search time on your knees. You might find the most beautiful piece of all.