Deking you out

I watch how other people walk.

The baby step shuffle of a high healed woman on her cell phone or the husky gentlemen who attempts to extend a bit further with every lurching step.  The slight strut of the slick haired banker, left hand in his front pocket, right hand at his side, desperately clutching his mobile device that is still a BlackBerry.  There is the waddle of the overweight admin assistant, security pass hanging from her neck replacing the old CNE feathered roach clip that used to hang from her hair.  The slow cluster stroll of the fund accountant East Asians chatting in halted English, smiles so white against the darkness of their skin.  The buzzing of the purposeful laptop and multiple pen holding middle manager with thin lips and a too stiff popped collar hustling down to get a quick latte.  The half jog/half walk of the tie and short sleeved dress shirt  balding mailroom worker, passing the same Starbucks, going directly to Tim Hortons for his double double on his assigned 15 minute break.

I notice all these walkers because invariably I am stuck behind them. Bobbing and weaving to satisfy my own impatient gait.  The exodus to the food courts and shops down narrow escalators is one thing I do not enjoy about my workplace.  I appreciate the convenience of the options; love/hate the bulk candy and nut store whose owner I am surely helping to early retirement and it does prove handy when picking up random gifts for the various members of my friends and family for birthdays or holidays.  But mostly I detest the herd-like mentality of all these people, slugging beneath the earth like a cadre of molemmings, to satisfy our wants and needs in various bloated forms of exorbitance.  It reeks of consumerism, which I blindly fall victim to while complaining about it here.  I feel dirty and shallow.  And chipper, so there’s that.

I strive to be different, but the striving is all in my head alongside the how I will share my lottery winning moments and the dreams of having more than one bathroom.  I have written about the magical motivation button before, the button I keep searching for on my bulbous noggin that I will press and all energies will turn to finding a route to professional success that matches my current personal success.  I am pretty sure this button does not exist and the affecting change resolution I have engaged the past two New Year’s was also not the fantasy switch.  Ok, I did start writing again, both blogging and about 15 pages into a novel I think might sell, so I will admit that in itself has potentially opened doors that were dormant, dusty and closed before.

So maybe I am just a late bloomer.  I went back to college when I was 24 because I did not find my way until then.  I found my groove as a communicator after 10 years in the work force because I was not exposed to the right people until then.  Maybe the next portion of my life will be more attacking and less reactive and somewhere in the next five years I will hit the stride of success I know is buried beneath the duvet of anxiety, self doubt and occasional full blown depression.

I hope so.  42 years old.  Tick fucking tock.