thomas

Inspiration is a fickle thing. Mine always involved the residue of coffee, darkness outside the window, and the really, deathly stillness that only visits when everyone else is passed out, everyone else sane enough to choose a night of sleep than chase flitting thoughts and the glimpse of the shadow of the truth.

But I do. It makes me feel good when I try to explain life somehow. Or how happy I am right now. Or how tired I am right now. Or how lucky I am right now.

I am a man visited daily by doubt. I doubt life. Is it any good? I heard somewhere it's a terminal condition. So I constantly ask myself is this life? Am I living enough? Have I met enough friends? Made enough money? Put enough food in the ref, clothes in the laundry hamper? Bothered enough credit companies, troubled the landlord, the neighbors enough? Have I made my mom worry enough? My sister, my brother-in-law, my nephew in his tiny bed, have I made them rethink their relations?

Have I been here all along, lo' these 27 sordid years, turning 28 soon? A triumphant, titanic, terrific twenty-eight? I am not quite young, and definitely not that old. I am in-between again.

Like my job, I am in between knowing what needs to get done, and having absolutely no fucking idea at all.

See, my job is the job I've always wanted, which was entirely unexpected, but an evidently happy thing. And I want to do good with it. Make a difference, you know? Like they kept saying in the company mission, vision, values, speed, speed, speed, speech. Us, the employees, seek to empower the masses.

We hope to show the world that the internet is not a vending machine, a soulless panel of holes and buttons you shove money into to make all the pretty lights go on. No, no, the internet is filled with people. They're there, beneath the porn, the facebooking and twittering, underneath the adult-friend finder advertisements, sulking below the surface. We hope to purge them from out of the woodwork and into the light, where they can make a spectacle of themselves, make a profit, and give us a percentage.

It's a nice dream. A dream I've had before, in a time we were empowered by innovation.

I'm wide awake now. The morning light streaks in, the alarm buzzes some feet away. The shower must be turned on. The 5 minute walk to the station, 2 minutes down to the platform, 3 minutes standing in the train, 3 minutes to the office lobby, 5 minutes to my seat, all these must be trodden, a day at a time, need be.

I doubt if I'll make it. A Japanese friend of mine just today was doubting himself, too. He messaged all of us in group chat. How come he can't find a date? Was something wrong? Must he change? Our fellow friends chided him, in the loving way friends do. I said, in my habitually awfully phrased Japanese, that I've always like him just the way he is.

This kid was young, headed to university. Smart. Bright. Sports a bright yellow tie, yellow frames to his glasses, and yellow pants. He was a statement, and he was brave enough to state it.

I'm not too young, but I'm not quite old either. And sometimes, inspiration barges in from the depths of the murky night, from the errant roar of distant cars, and the calm rumbling of train tracks. Though tomorrow I'll doubt myself anew, for tonight at least I'll be a a firm believer in the joy I've amassed so far.

Have a little faith, is what I should have said. Have a little faith in yourself.

Photo credit: Doubting Thomas - Caravaggio