Hobo Envy
In December I alluded to forthcoming commentary on hobos. Today that promise is fulfilled....
It finally happened. This morning I got the hobo envy.
(If for some reason you are not aware of this condition, you are probably also unaware of the important rocky road theory of life. For this I pity you and will provide some enlightenment about hobo envy. Because I'm generous like that.)
Due to my intense dislike of early mornings and the cold, for some months of the year the walk between Grand Central and my office is physically painful. It's beyond the normal frustration and fatigue of walking through Manhattan when sensible people are still horizontal. During that walk on particularly cold mornings, I sometimes begin to fantasize about escape: Maybe if I took a flight to Mexico I could sleep in the sun on the beach for a few hours before anyone noticed I was missing. Sadly, a gust of bitter wind usually jolts me back to reality.
A few years ago I realized the depth of my longing for escape from the cold and exhaustion on those mornings when I was literally envious of a homeless person sleeping in a box on the sidewalk. Please don't think I am exaggerating even slightly. As I passed his cardboard condo I realized that at that moment I would happily change places with him. How carefree his hobo existence must be. No LBO analysis, no alarm clock, nothing but peaceful dreams of riding the rails deepened by the exhaust fumes of a hundred passing delivery trucks. This is hobo envy.
The real issue is, would he trade places with me? One of us has nine square feet of personal space, a cacophony of voices surrounding him for twelve hours a day, bad food hastily consumed, and irrational people shouting obscenities and making pointless demands. Then there's the hobo, happily asleep in his box.
If I were him, I wouldn’t trade either.
It finally happened. This morning I got the hobo envy.
(If for some reason you are not aware of this condition, you are probably also unaware of the important rocky road theory of life. For this I pity you and will provide some enlightenment about hobo envy. Because I'm generous like that.)
Due to my intense dislike of early mornings and the cold, for some months of the year the walk between Grand Central and my office is physically painful. It's beyond the normal frustration and fatigue of walking through Manhattan when sensible people are still horizontal. During that walk on particularly cold mornings, I sometimes begin to fantasize about escape: Maybe if I took a flight to Mexico I could sleep in the sun on the beach for a few hours before anyone noticed I was missing. Sadly, a gust of bitter wind usually jolts me back to reality.
A few years ago I realized the depth of my longing for escape from the cold and exhaustion on those mornings when I was literally envious of a homeless person sleeping in a box on the sidewalk. Please don't think I am exaggerating even slightly. As I passed his cardboard condo I realized that at that moment I would happily change places with him. How carefree his hobo existence must be. No LBO analysis, no alarm clock, nothing but peaceful dreams of riding the rails deepened by the exhaust fumes of a hundred passing delivery trucks. This is hobo envy.
The real issue is, would he trade places with me? One of us has nine square feet of personal space, a cacophony of voices surrounding him for twelve hours a day, bad food hastily consumed, and irrational people shouting obscenities and making pointless demands. Then there's the hobo, happily asleep in his box.
If I were him, I wouldn’t trade either.
2 Comments:
I can't wait for the day you admit to Hausfrau envy...
very, very funny. Today, I would choose to trade. I feel like I live in a box, but I share it with four other people and their stuff. I might trade for my own box and no stuff.
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