Driving to work today, I was following an ambulance. Not during an emergency apparently, for they were driving at normal speed and did not have their lights flashing. I noticed that through the large window in the back I could see an elderly man, clearly in pain, holding his chest. He had had better days for sure, and I felt bad for him.

Here I am, going to the same job, same off white windowless office, green fluourescent lighting, and white noise from computers, phones, etc. The same gig that while it’s not bad, it’s not exactly my idea of excitement either.

Had this man, probably in his eighties, lived a more exciting life than me, and now is on his way out, perhaps in pain, but content with the life he has lived?

Maybe he worked outside, breathed the fresh air all day and worked with his hands.

Maybe he was a doctor and saved lives, and helped people.

Maybe he was a lawyer, and fought for peoples’ freedom (or robbed them of it!).

Maybe he was a jazz musician, and spent his nights in a smoky, dimly lit club, on a creaky wooden floor, blowing the smoke from the tubes of his trumpet or trombone.

Of course I imagine all this not because of what this man really did, for I have no idea. He could have had the same job as me. Rather, I imagine it because I wonder what it’s like for people to have a job that’s not a job. It’s a hobby or true love they get paid for.

I guess that’s nearly as elusive as winning the lottery though, right?