Into the Unknown

It starts with a newspaper.

The newspaper he picks up on his way to the office in a desperate attempt to get figures floating under his eyelids – an annual effect of late night work on the annual report - disappear. He replaces them with words, which works well for the first thirty minutes of his daily hour-long bus ride. He flips through the news: people are getting married and divorced, royal babies are being born, politicians promise and politicians lie. He absorbs those trivial facts that will be forgotten by lunchtime when suddenly one of the headlines gets his attention.

"Senior Financial Analyst of the leading software company left her job to follow the dream of becoming a jazz pianist".

He peeks over the newspaper to make sure no one is near to witness his shameful morning read. Why would he, a well-respected man and an accountant with twenty years of experience, be interested in such nonsense? His coworkers take this bus as well, what if they saw him reading the article and had an impression that he was not a serious, truly devoted to the job man that he is? And surely a man in his forties who has spent half of his life building up a secure career is not expected to indulge in stories about dreams.

He hides behind the wide pages and shifts a little to press his back against the window. Now that he is completely shielded from judgment, he scans through the article and immediately catches main phrases – a habit he has developed after years of checking reports.

"…worked in finance for twenty-five years."

"… was awarded an employee of the month ten times in her career…"

An impressive accomplishment, he thinks. He only received the title once. His manager was sick back then, so he was next in line because he did all his work in addition to his own. Undoubtedly, it was a rough month, but his picture was hanging on the wall right above the coffee table for the next month, not to mention that he added the bonus to his savings to finally buy a new washing machine. Good, right?

"… announced last month that she had decided to quit to pursue her dream of playing jazz."

His heart starts racing when he reaches the bottom of the page.

"She claims to be happy with her decision and suggests everyone take a moment to think about what they truly want to do in life."

He hears a quiet voice announce his stop and hurries to fold and stuff the newspaper into his briefcase. On his way out, he nods at the guy from the cubicle next to him and hopes he didn't see him reading. Most of all he hopes he didn't see him flushing and breathing heavily and didn't feel his heart flip-flopping when they step into the elevator. For the first time in such a long time, he feels something like hope, and the feeling catches him off guard.

He is fine doing his morning routine: he checks the emails and studies notes from the boss with his usual diligence. Once or twice, though, he has to take an extra deep breath, realizing he has been holding it for too long. In his mind, he goes back to the article, embarrassed. There is also a feeling he can't quite discern yet.

At noon, he fixes himself a cup of tea and watches his coworkers sit at their desks in unhealthy poses and stare at the screens without blinking. They should take a break, he thinks, they all deserve a break. At one p.m. he is summoned to the boss's office and told that "today's report is of the utmost importance", which can mean only one thing - overtime yet again. Having returned to his desk, he suddenly feels dizzy and can't quite understand why – those "important reports" happen at least once a week, there is no surprise here. It is lunchtime when it finally strikes him – he was too afraid to let himself form it into a sentence, but the idea is already rooted in his brain.

He wants to chase his dream, too.

For the next couple of hours, his mind is going back and forth. To chase his dream? My God, how childish! All of a sudden, he sees his father – opening a beer in their old living room, his hands still covered in coal, his uniform smelling of sulfur. He can hear his father's hoarse laughter, followed by full two minutes of coughing: "that's the most stupid thing I've ever heard!". But people do that all the time, don't they? That analyst did it. It counts, right?

At five he observes the room. People are stretching, yawning, and high-fiving each other on finishing the dreadful fifty-page report. He would normally smile at their sheer happiness, but now all he can think of is how foolish and delusional he has been. Yes, they have finished those fifty pages, but tomorrow will bring another fifty. In fact, he will spend this very night in the company of almost identical report of almost identical utmost importance. Is this what he wants to do for the next ten years?

At seven he finishes with the daily tasks and gets to his sweet overtime. What appears to his colleagues to be thoughtful work – after all, that is what he is best known for – is simply him staring absently into the monitor. He has not even put his fingers over the keyboard. His body is still, but his mind is already doing it. Chasing the big dream he did not realize he had until this morning.

It is long past midnight when he finally closes a thick folder and pushes it to the corner of his desk, feeling light and calm in the soothing quietness of an empty office. His last report. He cannot help but smile at the thought.

He leaves relaxed and only a little bit tired, unlike most of the days.

The morning comes, and in comes his resignation.

It is not announced, but surely, by noon everyone is discussing the news at the coffee table failing at trying to be discreet. Soon some begin to approach him, eager to share their opinion.

- It's crazy, man! I would never have thought I would see you leave!

- Have you received another job offer? You can't just leave these days, have to be smart about it. My cousin had been looking for a job for months. Got into lots of debt. It was rough.

- They wouldn't take you back, you know.

- Going into IT, aren't you? Think it’s more promising?

He simply smiles to all shoulder devils and watches with weird satisfaction how much it annoys them.

At the end of the day, he shuts down the computer, grabs his briefcase, thinking to himself that he may never carry a briefcase again, and shoves all his documents into it. The folded newspaper gets crumpled at the bottom, so he fishes it out. He carries it in his hand maneuvering between cubicles.

The guy occupying the desk at the exit door bents his neck curiously to read the headline and suddenly laughs, drawing everybody's attention to them.

- Tell me you are not going to play jazz, too!

He pauses for a moment wondering if he should try to explain. But the door is so close – he is almost there.

So he steps out of the office and keeps walking.

He may get into debt; he may try IT – why not? Hell, he may even try jazz – it does sound lovely now that his head is cleared from figures. He doesn't know yet what he will be doing tomorrow or next month because that is not what his dream was about. What they all may have missed is that they have just witnessed a dream come true – him walking out of the office knowing he does not have to go there tomorrow or next month.

He will let himself enjoy this moment before perusing his next dream.