Snowed in the Matrix

I looked out of the wide windows of the Smith & Bernard Bank building overlooking the city's grid of diverse buildings and noticed flakes of the first snow making their slow drift downwards. I sighed as I thought about how I’ll miss it due to the number of meetings I had today. One short half an hour for lunch. Each day seems to fly by but also feel like an entire year. I winced thinking about how I’ll have to do this for the next 30 or more years. How could I, possibly?

Sleep, eat, work, eat, work, eat, sleep. Squeeze hobbies and socializing in when you can. Repeat.

And what even are my hobbies? I say I’m a writer but I rarely actually do. There’s about 5-6 unfinished art projects laying around my apartment. I do a light exercise maybe 2 or 3 times a week but not enough for it to make much of a difference.

And socializing? A beer or two, maybe a meal, a few times a month? When did this become my life?

A ping from a co-worker snaps me back into reality. “Hi Melissa – are you joining?”

I roll my eyes and click the “Join Now” button on Zoom.

“Hi Melissa!” all three people say at once.

“Hey everyone” I say nonchalantly before going on mute, trying to make it clear I’m not in a chatty mood.

My boss, who created the meeting, is wearing his normal blank expression, meaning that once again, he did not prepare anything for the meeting and will rely on me.

“Not to put you on the spot, Melissa”, he says, as he puts me on the spot. “But I was hoping you could give us an overview of your data migration project, current status and action items, and what your plans are for future work in 2024.”

The rest of the attendees go on mute and wait expectantly.

I sigh and go into my rehearsed spiel, and try not to cringe as I dance around the fact that I have not been given nearly enough information from anyone to determine what my team should be working on in 2024, and was never told that this was my responsibility when I was hired.

As I finished, the barrage of questions begin, mostly co-workers either asking how my work affects theirs or trying to find a way to make it so that my work affects theirs. I had been wondering what the reason for this was: because I was a pushover and do my work well, and they want to harp on that for their own gain, or because they desperately wanted to be close enough so that they could pinpoint my flaws and use them against me?

I respond with as much clarity and brevity as I can to inform them that no, in fact, my work does not relate to theirs. What I didn’t mention is that I bent over backwards to ensure that fact, even if it made the plan take a little longer.

The meeting started to wind down with mindless small talk and some halfhearted "Happy Holidays", as I watched the clock tick from 1:27 to 1:30 until I could say “I have to drop for my next meeting”. My next meeting goes by in a blur of technical chatter, the next mostly small talk with a project leader, and the day finally comes to a close with responding to emails answering questions that give the same information that I’d given in previous meetings earlier in the day.

I look out the window again, the snow is starting to fall down harder. At my previous job, working remotely from my cozy apartment, doing easier work that somehow still looked better on a resume, I would have loved to see the snow fall outside, knowing it wouldn’t be hitting my face and freezing my bones.

I pull on my coat and backpack, and grab my coffee mug, the smell of this mornings stale leftovers make my hungry stomach clench. I trudge to the kitchen to pour it out, grab my sad-looking lunchbox out of the sad-looking office fridge and make my way to the elevator.

There, I come across a software developer that has “I hate my life” written all over his face every time I see him. He’s the smartest on the team, but to his detriment: he is always shoved into the urgent and stressful issues and outages. I always wish that I could use my words and say something to make him feel better, but nothing ever comes out. We ride down the elevator together in silence, staring at our phones, AirPods shoved in our ears.

Once out of the building, the chill hits me like a fierce tidal wave. I zip my coat up to my chin and brace the long walk to the parking garage.

God my life is so mundane.

I think about all of the dreams I had as a child: traveling the world, writing books and poetry, singing songs and starting a big family in a big house. Are any of these things possible now? Will I ever really have them? Doesn’t society let you know that you can, only to crush you down until you can’t, but you’re deluded into thinking you still can?

Only thirty and I’m feeling helpless. As I walk through the matrix of cars in the garage, I feel as if they could all crush me at any moment. Driving on cruise control through life, hoping to not get into accidents. Stuck in the car of life and I can’t get out. My final destination unknown.

The long drive flies by in a blur of stopping, going, honking and avoiding speeders. I get home to greet my happy dog; does she know that we live in a matrix of the mundane?

We go on our nightly walk, and when walking by my towns' holiday decorated coffee shop, I notice a new poster in the window foggy window: “Poetry Open Mic tonight at 8!” I look at my watch: 7:15pm.

I walked up closer to it and touch the warm glass. It felt like a calling. Like a scene in a movie where the main character first stumbles upon the start of their adventure.

I remembered a poem I’d written months ago during a tough night. The numbers of my days work jumbling up until I felt like I wanted to erase them with words. Feeling like I was releasing a beast inside of me onto my keyboard. The relief I felt after shutting the laptop down afterwards. It felt so real, so alive, but I never thought about it again until now.

I rushed my dog back to my apartment and pulled it up on my phone as my fingers thawed. My expectation was that it would be senseless, embarrassing or worst of all: boring. Instead the words felt that they described my current mood so much that it nearly took my breath away.

I guess I should do this, I thought, while ignoring the other part of my brain telling me stay snowed in tonight, getting to bed early and be fresh for work tomorrow.

I raced off to the warm café through the snowflakes that threatened to freeze me.

I walked in just as the host was putting the list down on a stained chestnut counter beside a decorated Christmas tree.

“Are you here for poetry night? Sign up! You can go first!” he exclaimed through a bearded grin.

“Oh, okay” I said, as I thought “Oh, no”. But this was the direction life wanted to take me today, and I knew I needed to follow it. Take an exit off the highway of life that was stretching miles before me.

I signed my name with shaking hands and went to order a chamomile tea. Once the steaming cup was in my hand, I took a seat at a small table and awaited my fate.

The hosts monologue detailed the start of the poetry night: coercion out of his introverted shell, support from the coffee shop owners and motivation to work through his issues. He read a short piece of that detailed his conflicting feelings for his love interest and soon enough, less than an hour after I decided to do this, it was my turn.

My chair creaked as I stood and walked through the silence, trying my best to ignore the stares. I got up to the mic and had to adjust it to my height.

I cleared my throat. “Hi, I’m Melissa, and this is a poem I wrote a few months ago.” My mind blanked on what else I could say. “It’s called Schrödinger’s Life”.

I heard a mug clink onto a ceramic plate. I welled up all of my courage and began.

Sleep, eat, work, eat, work, eat, sleep.

Repeat 5x.

Take a few days off.

Sleep, eat, work, eat, work, eat, sleep.

The life I want so close, so far

Or is it already here?

Need the money to get the life

Get the life but need the money to maintain

To get more, you work more

No big privilege for me

No help, no luck

The light at the end of the tunnel

A road trip away, not much play

At least most days

But no, stop

Let’s turn it around.

Friends, family, dog, boyfriend

All there, all love, can’t stop

Wake up. Say your thanks

Drink tea, make toast

Lead the team, make money, grow the career

Same life, different view

But how can you tell, what’s you?

Is it all true?

Alive and dead at the same time

Or no, is it that we can never die?

Only the observer knows

And I see I’m still here

Plan to always be, always seeing me

Only the dreams can take me away

So many lives, at night on display

Are they all me? Are none of them?

Is everyone someone and can someone be anyone?

The life I live is one I’ve made

Have to learn to be proud

Of anything I create

Never enough but at times too much

But it’s mine, only mine

Time to repeat…

I’m grateful, I’m strong, I’m me, I’m here

Eat, sleep, work, repeat

This routine might go on and never end

The best thing to do is to not pretend

Go go go, but also take it slow

Appreciate the now, learn how to grow.

I stopped and expected silence as quiet as an all-muted Zoom meeting, but instead was met with claps and cheers. My jaw dropped. The host gave me a high five as I walked away from the mic. “That was great, you gotta come back next month!”

The journey back to my seat was met with nods of appreciation.

A professional writer that came with copies of her book rubbed my shoulder and said “That was really moving, great job!” with a big smile.

Huh? Was this a life I could actually have? Pour feelings into words and then share them with others? They can actually relate? Am I a writer?

As I sat back down and took a another sip of tea, I let a smile cross my lips in what felt like too long. The matrix of the mundane felt like it was breaking open after years of holding me hostage.

The snowflakes outside the coffee shop seemed to flow in rhythm against in the warm outdoor streetlights.

I could tell then that this night would in fact start to change the course of my life.