Wednesday, April 28, 2004
Happiness is...
Every day on my way to and from school, I walk down Broadway past a certain store front. The sign in the window reads "Build It Yourself" and the bright windows are filled with whimsical toys, puppets, and decorations. There's a bright green foam rubber face with googly eyes and coiled-spring arms. Mobiles swirl around little vehicles. Wires join plastic parts crazily. The objects are all obviously home-made, but they're done well, and strike a feeling of (ok, I used this word before, but it's the best word) whimsy into the observer.
From time to time, I see a middle-aged man sitting at the workbench in the store. Sometimes it's in the late morning. Sometimes it's after dark, his desk lamp illuminating his crazy inventions. Every time I see him, or even his store, I can't help but know with surety that this man is happy with his career. He's the happiest man in the world, as far as I'm concerned. Sometimes I wish I had the courage to be like him.
From time to time, I see a middle-aged man sitting at the workbench in the store. Sometimes it's in the late morning. Sometimes it's after dark, his desk lamp illuminating his crazy inventions. Every time I see him, or even his store, I can't help but know with surety that this man is happy with his career. He's the happiest man in the world, as far as I'm concerned. Sometimes I wish I had the courage to be like him.
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