One day not very long ago I was riding the bus. Most people on the buses here in Indianapolis keep to themselves, but occasionally I’ll find myself sitting next to a chatty one. This was one of those days.
“You know what I’m saying?” the man mumbled as he shook his head. I had no idea what conversation we were in or how we got there from the topic of reading books.
“I got a son, he works at Chase bank. And my daughter. She’s a paralegal. They make good money. They’re smart, you see.”
I nodded my head attentively. I was relishing this small part of the conversation that I could actually follow.
“I could make more money too. But higher paying jobs, they come with higher stress, you see. It’s a tradeoff. Each person gotta decide for themselves.”
“I myself, I’m just a janitor. I could be something else. I could make more money. But it would come with that higher stress, you know? I’d have to do more talking. I mean I can talk alright, like I’m talking to you right now. But it’s a different kinda talking. Not for me.”