Dreaming of an Escape
“It’s a big world out there. It would be a shame not to experience it.” -J.D. Andrews
I am sleeping soundly and peacefully in my bed when I am jolted to consciousness by the sound of my blaring alarm. I am not rested at all, and I find it incredibly difficult, almost painful, to get up and moving. I lie in bed for another 15–20 minutes, scrolling on my phone. My brain is still in a fog.
The minutes fly by, and I suddenly realize what time it is and jump out of bed. I toss my hair up in a bun, brush my teeth, wash my face, and slide on some deodorant. I grab a shirt from the closet, a bra, socks, and jeans from the dresser and hurry down the stairs. I grab my purse, water bottle, and coat and rush out the door, then immediately toss them into the passenger’s seat as I back out of the driveway. I merge onto the highway and cruise along at 80 mph until I reach my exit ten minutes later. “Phew, I just made it,” I think, still barely awake.
There’s a new homeless man at the stoplight today. He is holding a cardboard sign that says, “Please help. Every life matters.” I dig into my purse and pull out a five-dollar bill, then lower my window and extend my arm. His eyes light up, and he eagerly runs across the street to grab it before the light turns green again. “God bless you,” he says, as he runs back to the corner.
“Gosh, I really am blessed,” I think as I scan my badge and pull my SUV into the parking garage. I know that to get this job, I had to sell myself. I had to show up for my interview looking professional, and demonstrate my experience and technical knowledge, in order to get my foot in this door. I had the things it took, and now I have the desk job that I once coveted. The job that allows me to pay my bills, live in a nice place, drive a nice car, and feed and clothe my family.
Yet I still find myself unfulfilled and longing for more, or at least for something different. I certainly don’t want to be homeless, and I certainly appreciate what I have, yet I feel as though I don’t belong here. I feel it in my bones, deep down to my core. I hear my co-worker talk to a client, and he seems so enthusiastic about his job. I don’t get it, I think. Why is he so eager to make a meager income while being tied to a desk all day? Or am I just completely ungrateful? At least I’m not homeless, I tell myself.
Still, I long for more sensory rich experiences. There is a great big world out there, full of new faces and places and stimulation. I want to do something else with my precious time besides sit in a cubicle for eight hours a day. I want to look at something besides glaring computer screens and bland tan walls and stretches of white ceiling tiles broken up by blindingly bright fluorescent lights. I want to hear sounds besides the soft hum of the air conditioning and clicking sounds of keyboards. I want to be somewhere warm, instead of freezing all day, snuggled up in a blanket and winter coat. I want human interactions that involve more than people complaining about the recent bonus structure change that results in more work and less money.
I sit in my cubicle and stare at the pictures pinned to the walls that I ripped out of a company-provided calendar. I admire the beauty of the emerald green landscapes, lush foliage, and peaked mountaintops covered in a dusting of snow. I feel the synapses fire in my brain as I stare at bright blue skies, white fluffy clouds, crisp turquoise water, sandy beaches, and slanted palm trees. I take a deep breath and relax as I look at layers of rolling blue waves that stretch to a golden sunset. As I stare at the horizon line in the photo, I remember the last time I saw the ocean, and I remember staring at it mesmerizingly as it continued as far as the eye can see. My heart pounds. Tears well up in my eyes.
I stand up and stretch my legs. Blood flows to my tight joints and muscles. It feels good to FEEL something. I need to get out of here. I need an escape.
