Window

The man’s office was stale. After years and years, he didn’t exactly have excitement in his heart every morning before he went into work. The best part of his office was the window by his cubicle. It let light in, it let him see the outside, it let him see people, it let him see trees, it let him see the streets ten floor below him. What a view it was, sullied by the shackles of a keyboard and the chains of an office chair. Every morning, he woke up, ate his tasteless oatmeal, told his wife he loved her, set out his kid’s lunches, then went to the office. His expressions of love were true, but hollow now. Love is now routine, as is everything else. But his life would be hollow if not for his now-hollow love for his wife and his children.

The window was some days open, letting in a small breeze. The wind made him feel like he was flying, but the cage of 3 canvas walls always kept him grounded in the 22nd cubicle of the tenth floor in this office building. His only break in routine was the daydreams he had at his desk in those task-less moments. Oh, the adventures he and his window went on. One hot summer day, the sun from his fully beloved window made him feel like the captain of a legendary pirate ship. The light breeze -from the window- from the sea as he sailed out for treasure. He had such a marvelous crew.

But then his computer beeped and his ship sunk. He was back at his desk, back at his routine, back at his boring life. He left his joy in favor of still content, and thus the cycle continued. He returns home at five, eats dinner, reads his kids a bedtime story, then goes to bed. He and his wife lay silently in bed. They haven’t spoken or made love past nine in over a decade, for discussion and lust also seem so bland after years of acclimation. He loves her, she loves him, that’s the extent of their marriage after 20 years. That’s all they need in their empty lives.

He hated being asked “are you okay”. His apathy is often mistaken for sadness, both just as empty but neither the same. Having no taste for life has the same side effects of a distaste for life, so the two are often mixed in the eyes of those who have neither.

In those days he worked overtime, the stars and night sky from his beloved window made him feel like an astronaut, dancing in the stars. He was light on the moon, weightless in the infinite beyond, and blinded by the beauty of the burning spheres of gas that paint the endless everything. But then the lights of his dull monitor flick on with a new task, and Houston suddenly has a new problem. Thus the cycle repeats.

He no longer thinks for himself, there’s no benefit in such a thing. He’s just as happy as he’s supposed to be, not weighed down by the liberty of choice. The lucidity of will. He spins like a well oiled cog and he loves his cardboard model of a dream life. He may never feel joy, but at least he’s content with his cube and his little, beloved window. Content and complacent are the true dream, aren’t they? He could break away from such a cycle, but the choice isn’t truly his even if he’s the one who has to make it.

As he returns home, he has the choice now! Don’t go back to work in the morning! Make your kids a nice dinner! Show your wife that you’re still the soulful man she married all those years ago! But alas, the gravity of his desk is too strong. We can tell him to stop, ask him to let go, but he will not. He cannot.

I know it’s difficult to comprehend if this is not a thought you have, but I hope I’ve helped you understand. Helped you understand why he one day chose to finally take flight from his beloved window on the tenth floor.