Epilogue

EJ’s Journal

May 1st

Today John was different than usual. He decided we’d take a drive, something we don’t do very often. Without a plan or a map, we drove to some where deep in the heart of France. It was a lovely drive, the top down on our convertible something-or-other, and our hair blowing in the breeze. The smell of life in the air, and the feeling of romance only France can evoke. We arrived in a small town and found a restaurant.

Beautiful is the perfect word for the place, with its beauty-laced curtains and dishes. It had dark wooden trim, with a light butter-colored paint covering the walls. The decor was practically nonexistent because it blended so well with the setting. Woven baskets held the napkins, and the waitresses had cute, white, old-fashioned dresses on, with black aprons.

Perfect was another descriptive word that came to mind.

John asked the waitress to order for him, and I stared at him. His usual practice is to interrogate the waitress about what, exactly, goes into nearly every dish. Only after this interrogation does he decide that he’ll, “just have a salad or something.”

It was not so today.

I ordered something, I don’t remember what, and looked at John. “Why’d you do that?” I asked. “Do what?” “Let her surprise you…” He shrugged. “I trust her.”

I looked at him, smirking, trying to make him admit his joke. He said nothing, and sipped his water.

Then, I decided to break the news.

“What’s your favorite thing in the world?” I asked. “Besides you?” he says with a smile. “Yes,” I sigh, “besides me.” He pauses. Thinking, I assume. “Freedom,” he decides.

“Freedom,” I breathe. “That’ll work both ways…” He looks at me inquisitively.

“Oh, nothing,” I say. “I was just trying to figure out a name for our next kid.”

I hint with my eyes, and his eyes light up. Then I see something go out in his eyes. I didn’t notice until it was gone but there was a light in his eyes. The light went out, and I could see him panicking. Then calm flooded his eyes and he flashed a huge smile.

“Double the order!” he shouted to the cook. “We’re eating for three!”

He gave me a kiss, and I realized my old John was here to stay.

June 14th

I haven’t been able to write because of the amazing transformation my life has taken! John has decided to be a “People Investor,” as he calls it. He’s going to use his money to invest in people that are looking for a big break. People that can’t go to college can’t get the necessary degrees to do what they love (or just the opportunity), so John is going to help them.

He struck a deal with his boss that will give him a management job. The best part is that he gets to stay home! He spends more time with me and the kids, and with his new passion, than he does at work!

I’m so excited because John is now attacking work more than ever, and he’s winning. He finishes his daily work by seven in the morning, and he usually will work on some kid’s future until noon, then the rest of the day is fun! I’m so happy for him! He’s finally excited about things, and he’s so much nicer! He’s always helping people, and you can tell that he’s loving it. Freedom is on the way, and John’s already looking for a bigger house. He says down south, because he thinks there’s a lot of unrecognized athletic talent.

He’s back, John the adventurous man I married. I realize now, that it’s because he trusts. He trusts in people. That’s why the People Investing business is so good for him. He has faith.

Faith is being sure of what you hope for, and certain of what you do not see.

I think trust is a little like the first step towards faith. It helps you be sure, and certain, of what lies ahead. That’s one thing my John has now.

Trust.

Chapter Six: Who I Am

The man takes a breath, and I stare intently. He sighs, and I follow his gaze, which he’s directed towards the roiling waters.

“John,” he says, as if he’s known me his whole life. “Are you sure you want to know this?”

I hesitate. My mind plays a slideshow of myself, graying over the years, and my soul crumbling due to the unbearable burden of knowledge. I also see the shadow of life, a hope uncertain, but tantalizing. Something inside me is drawn to it.

“Yes,” I reply confidently.

“I’ve already told you that you’re meant to help others. You could notice this in the way you’d pretend to be a firefighter as a kid. You’re mother later discouraged you from that.”

He pauses, allowing me to remember, and I nod as I do.

“Your current job reflects your helpful personality. You work with an insurance company: a company that, supposedly, helps people when they’re in need. The only reason that this insurance thing keeps coming up, John, isn’t that it’s bad, but that you’re doing it for the wrong reasons! You do it for monetary security rather than the benefit of others. You do it for your own benefit, and that’s why you’re not doing what you want to.”

I consume his points, chewing each one before digesting it. I realize I’ve always known, subconsciously, that my personality and nature was to help others, and I wonder if that’s all he has to say.

“I know,” I say, hoping to evoke some sort of further explanation.

“Then why do you continue to do this? Why do you continue to be what your not?”

I know he isn’t angry, but I am still afraid of him. Just like I am with any other person who asks a question I can’t answer.

“I don’t know,” I mumble shakily.

“Know this,” he says. “You are better than this. You were once an adventurous person! You were bold and daring! You took chances! Do you remember the first investment you made? You invested in your brother’s cookie stand. That ramshackle cardboard box, with those awful Oreo knockoff cookies. No one else encouraged him, they told him he couldn’t do it. You knew he could do it. Do you remember how satisfying it was to reap the benefits? You’re an entrepreneur! You’re an artist in many forms! You are a great–ah, what do they call it?–humanitarian! You help those in need, and you have talents that you can use to help them even more! You are a helper. And you need to help.”

My breath comes short and quick, I am slightly taken aback at the answer he gave. My adult life has been spent making safe choices that are sure to stay neutral. I know I only invest, wether monetarily or otherwise, in things that will neither rise nor fall. My world is spinning, yet I have no one to blame. I invited this upon myself. I asked my question. I received my answer.

“Now, John,” he says. “You know now that you’re meant for something different. You’re meant to live outside of the normal comfort zone. You’re meant to be wild, to live life to the full, and to trust that you won’t fall.”

I nod.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he continues. “This is no invitation to jump off mountains and expect to live. This doesn’t meant that you have special favor with God. What it does mean is that whatever happens, God is planning it, for your benefit.”

I nod again, recognizing his point.

“Now, do you accept the challenge? The challenge to do what you’re meant to do? Will you take chances, because you have nothing to lose? Will you believe in others because you trust that your God will catch you when you fall, and lead you when you are lost?”

I stare into the mans eyes. I see them clearly now. I recognize the man. His eyes twinkle, acknowledging my recognition. The deep eyes are too colorful for my own eyes, and so deep I feel as though I’m drowning. I do not struggle, I just stare.

“You’re on,” I say.

Chapter Five–Who Am I

I look to my right, and a man is sitting beside me. I flinch, frightened.

You weren’t there a second ago, I think.

“How’d you do that?” I ask.

He laughs, a genuine laugh. His smile tells me I might never know. He is silent.

“Who are you?” I wonder aloud.

He looks at me again, this time with an amused look, like I should know better.

“Who do you think?”

“An angel?”

I cannot retain any knowledge of the man’s appearance. An instant later I can’t recall his expression, or complexion, but I realize his appearance only in the now.

“No,” he laughs, “Not an angel, but I am a messenger. What my name is does not matter now. No, the true question is who are you.”

I don’t hear him, I’m too busy wondering what he looks like. I see kindness in his smile, and I hear laughter in his voice. I see love in his eyes, and his expression warns me of his incredible caring. Yet I cannot determine anything, from nationality to age, from height to weight. The man is either ever-shifting from appearance to appearance, or all-in-one.

“Who are you?” he reiterates.

“I, uh, I’m, uh… you want to know who I am?”

“Yes, what do you call yourself?”

I pause, searching for the correct answer.

“John Chamberlain, I am an insurance marketer, with a one hundred percent success rate.”

I didn’t quite know why I went so far, as the man I was talking to didn’t seem like one to enjoy bragging matches.

“That’s it?”

His words sting like bees, but more intentional, and thus more personal.

“Yes, ‘that’s all,’. I just happen to work for Robinson Home Insurance! One of the most prestigious Insurance companies in the world! Not only that, but just last month I was named Head Marketer for the entire company, and I will soon be getting pay raise that is just over a four hundred percent increase. How about that?”

I am slightly disappointed in myself for the bragging, but the flurry of accomplishments flowed easily after the months of attempting to answer my question. I was talking more to myself, than to him. Proving myself, if to no one else, to myself.

“Interesting. And of your personal life?”

I blink, but refusing to talk seems like walking away from something that I don’t like, but will help me. (Green beans come to mind.)

“I’ve got my wife, and we have our kids.”

“What do you do for fun?”

“Well, honestly, I work on cars. It seems funny, I know, but creative marketers can still love the sound of a machine, or the feeling of success after conquering a difficult alternator, or,” I laugh. “Changing a lightbulb on an HHR.”

The man laughs with me, apparently familiar with the nigh on impossibility an HHR presents in the way of lightbulb-changing.

“So do you get to work on cars often?”

“Not anymore,” I say, and realize the words’ truth. “I have very little time. I try to spend time with my family, but some times work comes home, and I end up ruining an evening by not participating.”

I surprised myself again with sudden openness. I realize that I feel peace exuding from the man, but I have no clue why I’m telling him anything.

The man hums in understanding, and nods his head. He turns to me after looking at the sea.

“Why are you a marketer?” he asks. “Why don’t you fix cars?”

“Uh, well, because of the money,” I reply. “I knew I wanted to have a family some day, but the money wasn’t good enough in the auto repair business, unless you owned the shop, but that’s something that I didn’t want to do.”

“Why not?” he asked, the acuteness of the question slicing through the damp, pre-storm air.

“Why would I? There’s too much risk! So many supplies, plus rent, and employees, to get something like that off the ground, it’d be way, way too much money.”

“Why don’t you take the risk? The pros are much greater than the cons. What do you lose? A little money. Believe me, there’s always more money.”

I look at him, contemplating his words.

“Yeah…” I finally say.

“So why don’t you try to believe in something. I know you don’t want to be a marketer. It’s just what you do. I see it in your eyes, that you want to be helping people. That’s the reason you chose insurance, you thought it was a worthy cause.  But you found it wasn’t what you wanted. You brainwashed yourself into thinking that you loved your job, because you loved your money.”

I felt my hair bristling as I got defensive.

“I do like my job!” I burst. “I love the creativity, the scheming, and the business end. I do like it!”

“I know that,” replies the man, in a calming way. “You don’t hate your job, you just weren’t made for it. When you don’t do what you’re made to do you fight it. Deep down in your soul there’s an unreachable itch. You can’t sit still until you scratch it. Your itch is to do something else. You–”

“It’s too late anyway,” I interrupt, drowning in self-pity as I realize everything he said was true. “I already went to college, and I can’t do it again, I don’t have the money.”

The man suddenly rises, he motions for me to join him. I stand and wipe of my pants.

“Do you hear the thunder?” he says, and gesturing to the clouds on the horizon.

I nod.

“Do you hear the sea?”

I nod again.

“Do you see the magnificence in it all?”

“Yes.”

“Then, not to get all bibley on you, but if God takes care of the flowers and the birds, and the ocean, and the fish, and everything else, why wouldn’t he help you?”

“I dunno,” I say grumpily.

“Have you thought about this?” asks the man, more sternly.

“Yes, but I don’t know, it just seems ridiculous. Why would he care?”

“Because–again, I’m just saying the truth, nothing weird and religious–God loves you. He made you!”

I snort, somewhat derisively, and mostly just to make myself feel confident. It doesn’t work.

“Don’t be skeptical. You have a wife and kids, right?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, unable to see where he’s going with this.

“And when you work you earn the money so you can help them live comfortably, right?”

“Uh-huh…”

“You buy food, clothes, shoes, countless daily necessities, and you pay for gas, and electric, and water, and you pay the bank for your lovely house. In other words you look after your family, and you help them.”

I nod.

“Now think about it another way. Say you just made a… a… an animal of your choice. You want to show it to the world and say ‘Look what I made,’. Imagine it. Do it.”

“Okay,” I say. I imagine it, reluctantly.

“Now imagine the animal,” he pauses. “What’d you imagine?”

I look at my imagination, and see a platypus.

“A platypus,” I state, without thinking.

“A marvelous choice, one of my favorites,” the man replied. “Okay, so imagine that the platypus gets cold? What would you do?”

“I would get him a blanket?” I say hesitantly.

“Yes, exactly! You would fix it, you’d stop the problem. You’d help you’re little creation so it would be comfortable.”

I nod, understanding now.

“Picture this!” he continued excitedly. “The platypus jumps–you know what,” he said interrupting himself. “This is the part of the analogy where a child would be more apt to play the part.”

He strokes his chin, which may or may not have a beard. I can’t tell, even as I strain to see.

“Do you have a son?” he asks.

“Yeah, Tommy,” I reply.

“Okay, forgot the platypus, put Tommy and yourself at the community pool. Tommy’s on the water slide and he won’t come down unless you promise to catch him. As soon as you say, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll catch you, Tommy!’ he puts his fears aside and jumps. He trusts you.”

I see where he’s taking this.

“So when Tommy trusts his father, he gets the excitement and thrill of the slide–the experience of it–and then if he doesn’t like it, he tries the diving board, again using the trust principal. But, if he does like it, then he can take more risks, sliding down backwards, for example. Again, this is a metaphor, but I’m sure you can apply it to real life.”

I see his point but I still feel a cautious skepticism that is making me uncomfortable. I wince as I plan to ask a question.

This isn’t something you can forget, I think. You’ll know forever, and it will eat away at you if you don’t do what you learn.

I take a deep breath and let it out. Lightning strikes in the distance, and I wait until the thunder rolls by.

“What am I made to do?”

Chapter Four: Stranger Surprise

I take in the beautiful panorama, breathing deeply through my nose. The scent of ocean, salt, sweat, and victory are vivid. My eyes are amazed by the beautiful blues and grays of the day.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” says a deep, thoughtful voice behind me.

I say nothing but just nod. I don’t turn around, because I don’t care who is talking to me. In fact, I don’t want him here at all. I close my eyes and try to focus. I felt like the question had disappeared. I feel strangely because the question had been so vivid up until I crested the cliff. I don’t quite feel satisfied, but the question isn’t asking itself.

I push all of my thoughts out of my mind. I just feel. The air, the beauty, everything, I just feel it.

My mind–no, my soul–feels that this man is at fault. He’s driven away my question. In my soul I feel he’s answered the question, but I can’t determine the answer. I feel my mind racing, racing towards nowhere, and getting there fast. It doesn’t know what to think, but it also doesn’t know what to believe. I feel my internal doubt wrestling with the knowledge that the man is thrusting upon me.

I know now it’s the man; I feel it somehow. I don’t know what to do, and I feel there is no need to do anything. My being is receiving overwhelming knowledge and information, and my brain can detect it, but I have know clue what any of it means. I know, somehow, that the information is important, but I have no key, or password, to unlock the labyrinth of information.

A seagull cries above me, and my ears are pierced with the noise. Suddenly the gray skies are more foreboding–majestic even–than they were before. I hear the waves crashing on the craggy face of the cliff. The air smells like a storm, and I feel a droplet of rain. I glance to my right, away from the man, and spot a tree.

I note the lack of thunder in the air, and decide that the tree is my best source of shelter. I walk straight towards it, my back to the man the entire time. I reach the tree and see that it has remarkably protective leaves. They form a tight seal repelling all water, and, most likely, driving them towards the tree’s extended roots.

I harrumph, interested and amused. I think of the things I’ve seen on my vacation, and I find that they are all ingenious in some way. I think of God, a topic I don’t give a whole lot of time, and wonder if he cares.

Early on in my life, I know, I decided God made everything. My struggle is, and was in believing he cared about me, or other people. There was–is–too much death, too much destruction. I don’t care about the sappy feel-good “true” stories, I want real life. Not some Disney fabricated happy ending, because I know that’s not how it ends.

I sit down, and rest my back on the tree, exhaling.

What are you doing, John? What is this? Did you really think this would work?

My mind wanders to questions of my own sanity as my eyes search for something. The questions swim in my mind, repeating, or varying slightly.

What am I looking for? I ask subconsciously. The man, my subconscious replies.

I frown, and sit up straighter. I think of how he could have slipped past me. I don’t think it’s possible.

No, he couldn’t have…

My thoughts trail off, and I have no idea what is going on. For some reason I am extremely disturbed by his disappearance.

It wouldn’t be a disappearance if he wasn’t even…

Again I trail off.

“You’re looking for me” stated the same, deep, thoughtful voice.

Chapter Three: Internal Surprise

“Who are you, and where’s John?” I hear EJ ask.

I grin at her joke; the joke that she’s used since we got married. If I’m ever distant or acting strange, she’ll ask me that, and I’ll realize what I’m doing.

I experience just such a moment, and I am astounded by her perceptiveness. I give her a side-hug as we stand at our balcony. I think back over our week, and forward to the final week, my mind registers my distance. The mental, and emotional distance I’ve suspected but not quite given credibility.

“You’ve been like this for too long, John. Haven’t you noticed?”

It all becomes clear. I suddenly see why my wife and I are enjoying the southern shore of France at the expense of my business. I have no passion any more. My boss sees it. My parents see it. My wife, obviously, sees it.

In other words, I realize, I’m no fun any more.

“I have noticed,” I say softly, still embracing her.

“What happened? Do you know?”

“I can’t say, because I don’t know. There isn’t anything in the world I would trade my life for. I can see that I have a good job, a good retirement plan, and a good family, and a beautiful wife.”

She giggles, and my heart glows. I love it when she giggles.

“There’s something missing. I have no desire. I am not chasing anything,” I say, the words pouring out of my mouth, as if I am not saying them. “I lost my purpose, and I am now passively waiting for life to control me. I’m just rolling with the punches.”

EJ looks up at me, and she mmm’s. She’s my favorite person to talk to because I can bounce things off of her.

“I don’t have anything to fight for. It’s all taken care of. I’ve got my girl. I’ve got my job. I’ve got my plans. I’m set, I’ve got the life I wanted. Or… the one I thought I wanted.”

The urge to run, fills my breast, and I feel my muscles crying for freedom.

“I’ll be back!” I shout over my shoulder, as I sprint towards the lovely cliff my wife and I enjoy picnics on.

“What are you doing?” EJ returns.

“I’m finding John!”

My spirits soar as a navigate the rough terrain in my khaki cargo shorts and polo. The lovely crisp coastal air whips around my body, and finally I’m forced to slow down.

My mind races as my adrenaline-pumped body starts sloshing through the Atlantic Ocean’s water. I realize I’m insane, but I have wanted to climb the sheer cliff since I arrived at my beautiful villa. I close my eyes and dive under the water. My eyes adjust to the water, and I see a small school of fish. I swim towards the cliff which is barely fifty feet away.

Upon reaching the rock my inner cautiousness takes over, and I nearly submit to panic.

“No,” I growl, and fiercely begin attacking the wall. The cliff is an extremely difficult climb, even for someone with my semi-experience. The only helpful feature is the fact that the cliff leans back. Thus, when standing on a foot hold, you can let go of your handhold easier.

“What am I doing!” I think out loud, but half way up, I have no answer. I must continue.

My mind suddenly wanders from the current task; not a good thing. I begin dissecting the question again. My mind is suddenly separate, or, at least, I feel it is. My body seems to be guided in its steps, not missing once. It doesn’t falter it just climbs. Mechanically almost, but more beautifully than a machine could. All the while my mind was spinning, swirling my thoughts, like a bored party guest swirls his wine. I was thinking about the question, and I kept getting a mental ‘NO!’, with each answer I provide.

I suddenly realize were I am: on top of the cliff. Adrenaline and testosterone course through my veins, and I let out a man-roar for the ages.

Then I fall to my knees, weak, I assume, from the climb. My mind hears whispers, warm, loving whispers.

You’re not who you think you are, John. You’re not who you’ve become.

I realize within myself… something. I have no explanation but the voice has made everything very clear.

Chapter Two: Personal Surprise

I park my car in my messy garage, and then I sneak to the door that leads to the mud-room. I slip out of my work shoes, their proud, normally polished surfaces scuffed from my excitement. I tiptoe down the hallway, making sure to avoid the loose boards.

EJ, as I guessed is cleaning up from a PB and J lunch with Kylie and Tommy, our two kids. Five-year-old Kylie is singing her own version of the Star Spangled Banner, and Tommy, four, is pounding on his stuffed animals.

Maybe if we buy him a boxing bag, he’ll snuggle with it at night, I muse.

I try to avoid their innate Dad-O-Meter, but fail miserably. Soon their squeals of glee ring throughout the home, and EJ, excited, looks at me curiously.

“I’m home,” I say, intentionally leaving out an explanation, and ignoring her obvious inquisitive looks.

“I see.”

She reaches for me, and we kiss hello as the kids climb our legs.

“Why are you home?” she asks, cutting to the chase.

I sigh.

“Fine,” I relent. “If you must know, I’m home so we can pack.”

“Pack for what?”

“Guess.”

My wife gives me the look that means I’m in trouble, but sort of in a good way.

“Is it business related?” she says, rolling her eyes and resting her hands on her hips.

“Yes. How’d you know?”

“Those are the only trips we take,” she explains.

The comment stings, but I know that the revelation of the vacation will be even better for it.

“Is it in the US?” she asks.

“No.”

“Okay, I have my answer. We’re going to the annual InsuranceFest in Toronto!” she says, mocking me.

“Are you saying you didn’t enjoy the trip to Minnesota?” I ask feigning surprise.

She glares at me and growls. “No, sir, I did not like that trip,” she says stiffly.

“Well, you’re wrong, because it isn’t in Canada, and the only reason its business related is because its a company vacation. We’re going to France, EJ!”

“Your kidding,” EJ says, but I can see she knows I’m not.

I grin back at her and I open my arms. She attempts to crack my ribs in a hug.

“Just you and me,” I say, and I kiss the top of her beautiful, blonde head. “Just you, and me.”

***

I lazily loll my head on EJ’s shoulder enjoying the bliss of the moment. The plane is dark, excepting A21 who is an avid reader, and is just beginning another Dean Koontz book. I take a deep breath, the thick scent of coconut in her hair overpowers my senses. My already tired eyes close and I find myself drifting off into sleep.

I snuggle a little closer as the blackness edges closer, tucking my eyes in for the night. Then my pleasant thoughts are pricked by a painful needle. The needle is the same blasted question that I’ve been asking myself.

Why do I work for an insurance company.

Surprising myself, I begin to reassess the question. Despite the drowsy state of my mind, I imagine that the question is something else.

Why do I work as a marketer? I mentally rephrase. Because I have a creative side that nicely compliments my businessman side. Why do I work? Because I love my family, and I want to provide a house, food, some occasional fun, and a certain amount of overall comfort to them.

I pause, confused as to the nature of the beast. I try to discern what the question is. Is it a ungrateful question? An unsatisfied question?

A calling.

It comes to me, and I can’t refuse it. I suddenly know that’s what it is. Inexplicably, I know I’m right.

Okay, if it’s a calling, then what is it calling me to do? What can I do differently? I already went to college. I’ve already got the rest of my life planned. Move up in the company, and then retire. 

My mind falters, and I feel sleep creeping towards me. I do not fight, but merely leave the question hanging. It is a very un-me thing to do, but I cannot wonder why I do it. The blackness swallows my mind, and I enter the realm of sleep.

Chapter One: Corporate Surprise

I look down at my left shoulder where my boss’s hand has just surprised me. Then I turn to face him. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I have a good guess.

“John,” he says. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

I groan inwardly.

“Have a good time on your trip.”

“What trip?” I inquire cautiously.

“This one,” he says, plopping a fat manilla envelope on my desk. I close my eyes as I reach for the package. I open the seal, and find ten one-hundred dollar bills staring at me. Each green rendition of of Ben Franklin’s face says to my mind, “Ka-Ching.”

Still shocked I burrowed for what I knew was there. Plane tickets. To–

“You didn’t,” I say, standing from my desk chair. “You’re pulling my leg,” I yell now, almost angry at this obvious practical joke.

“I’ve rented a villa in French countryside. You’ll be able to enjoy it with your wife for two weeks.”

I sink back into my chair. My head spins, and in my drab cubicle the manilla envelope looks like technicolor gone wild. I get slightly dizzy as I rise again, and when I extend my hand towards my boss, it’s more to steady myself than to thank him.

“Thank you,” I exclaim, already packing my bags mentally. “When do I leave?”

“Right now, John,” my boss beams.

“Oh no! My kids! Who will they stay with? I don’t know if–no, she’s not, that’s right, she’s out of town,” I look up at him, realizing I’m not talking to him. “Sorry, I was thinking out loud.”

My spirits fall as I realize the hole in the figurative bubble. I can’t believe that this whole thing can be called off for one detail.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asks. “I’ve had this whole thing planned for months with your parents. They agreed it was time for a getaway. Your kids will be with them.”

I spring from my chair and embrace him in a bear hug, my nose buried in his shoulder. In my excitement I fail to be offended by the stench of his cologne. The usually awful smell brings joy to my heart.

“I’ve got your back,” he says quietly. “What are friends for, anyways?”

I step back and smile a toothy grin, he returns it with a laugh, and pushes me out of my cubicle.

I rush to the elevator with my briefcase trailing behind, I hurriedly push the “down” arrow. The doors slide shut in a painfully slow manner. I stare at the sign above the polished silver doors. It reads: Robinson Home Insurance–Integrity is a necessity.

Goodbye! I think. I won’t be seeing you anymore! Good riddance.

As the elevator descends, my mind wanders to a question I ask myself more often by the day: Why do I work for an insurance company?

I know I’m a grounded man, and I wonder why I ask this question.

Am I not satisfied? That would be ridiculous, especially after the recent developments.

My mind frees itself from the drudgery of heavy thought as the elevator opens, revealing the lobby. I smile widely as I stride to the front door. I run into the crash bar, swinging the door wide open, the smell of freedom enters my nostrils, along with the fragrance of the May flowers that decorate the front of the Robinson Home Insurance corporate building.

I sprint to my Chevy Cruze, and I laugh, while my tie flaps behind me, probably wondering what on earth I’m running for.

My suitcase is promptly thrown in the back, and I start my car. Its small engine wobbles to life. I turn around to back up, and I drive out of the parking lot.

My brain immediately starts running through the creative, and playful ways to surprise my wife.

“Honey, we’re going to France!” I practice.