Tuesday, May 8, 2007

It Must Be Fun

As I sat at my computer for five years the lively laughter, intense yelling, crying, whooping and wailing that came from the playground next to our studio, faded. At first I noticed it strongly and listened to specific pleas and chants and conversations from the children. But then, I became desensitized to it, this feeling may have been just a portion of the head to toe numbness that deftly slid over me at my last job.

People would call on the phone, and to my amazement, they would sometimes mention that they could hear children in the background. I was so surprised that they could even hear it through the receiver, but even more astonished that I heard nothing anymore.

Occasionally, people would walk into our studio and remark about how much fun it must be to work at this place. At that moment, I always dusted off the aging and weakining pride that I took in my position and assured them that yes, it was kinda fun. Little did they know that their flip statement was all I had left to remind me of what was good about what I was doing anymore. I certainly didnt think it was fun or cool anymore, and anyone who knew me didnt think so either, because I convinced them so.

Sometimes, people walk into the lab and remark about the five orchids on the windowsil and what a peaceful space we have. At that moment again, I remember whats nice about my work space and how I am lucky.

Today I went to see a very talented milliner and I told her that it must be fun doing the work she does. She very candidly told me that it was, but that it was also difficult. I knew that it was probably hard, because who needs a milliner anymore, but I wanted her to think that I thought it was fun because I appreciated her craft.

I know it may not seem like much, but sometimes its so pleasant to have that fresh face walk into your world and marvel at the space and the hangings on the wall and at what you do. And hearing those words, “It must be fun” puts a glint in the most jaded eye and reminds you that there are children playing next door that you cant hear anymore and that what you do, sometimes is, or once was indeed, fun.

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