A Second Chance On Marriage

The Difference Between A Calling and A Job

Charlie's Pov:

"Well, if you're only here to listen, then I might as well continue." The therapist nodded his head at me, signifying that I was correct. "You mentioned my job, a playwright. I'm not only a playwright but I'm a director. I give people entertainment in their dull lives. Don't get me wrong, this city is anything but dull, but the people who inhabit it never take the opportunities it has to offer. Some may call it too distracting, the bustling streets of New York. The smells of coffee and cigarette smoke fills the air. It sticks to you like a cheap perfume. So many people crowd the sidewalks, this city may be its own continent. Even though the smog covers the sun, those mega-trons and neon signs are bright enough to force you to wear sunglasses. Shoulders brush up against you followed by incoherent mumbles that you can only assume are criticizing your abilities to walk. It sounds like a state of savagery, but there's no place I'd rather be.

Nicole enjoyed New York. No matter what she told her friends, I always knew deep down there was a strong sense of pride for this city within her. LA doesn't have the same spark as The Big Apple. LA is filled with nothing but fires and D-Listed "super stars" who are covered in so much spray tan you couldn't give them a hug without taking a piece, or a smear if you will, of them with you.

Now that Nicole is gone, all I have is Exit Ghost, my theater company. Of course, I have my son but just like Nicole, he doesn't appreciate New York in it's entirety. I spend hours in that theater. I'm hooked on perfecting my visions. My cast doesn't stop until they've rehearsed so much they perform the entire routine all the way back to their lowly apartments out of habit. I'm not a dancer myself, but I watch my performances so many times that I could conduct the choreography flawlessly on the first try. My impression may seem cocky, unfortunately that's how you have to depict yourself in order to make it anywhere in this business.

Please don't get it twisted, I'm nowhere at all a show-off. I just have a talent to entertain. This passion of mine was never necessarily a job but instead a calling." This, once again, was followed by a puzzled look on the therapist's face. You could see the confusion through his eyebrow raising just above the rim of his glasses. His lips were chapped but also stuck in a stern state.

"Mr. Barber, to you, what is the difference between a calling and a job?" I bit my tongue for a split second, I couldn't answer this. "Well that's the problem, I don't know." Although the words slipped off of my tongue, they pierced not only the air but me as well. I never stop to step back and look at the bigger picture, what is the difference?

"Maybe the difference is that there is no difference at all," the therapist continued, "Look, Charlie, in my opinion they're the same thing. If you have a job that you're passionate about, it's a calling. If it truly is a calling, it makes your job effortless to the point where it doesn't even feel like a job. Love what you do and that's it. But that's only my input on the situation. I want you to go home, or wherever feels like home and reflect on this question." He shuffles papers on his desk around looking for a vital piece of detail that will help him end this session. At last, he finds the calendar quickly made on Microsoft Spreadsheets of his clients' times. "We're scheduled to meet again at this same time next week. Really think about it, Mr. Barber."

I nodded my head, and quickly waved as I headed for the mahogany double doors. I was always terrible at goodbyes, I hated them. I never knew how to say goodbye without sounding abrupt or awkward. I always found a way to dance around them. Were goodbyes really needed if we were connecting again at a later time?

Eventually, my hand reached that rustic golden knob. The metal was always cold. This room is always cold now that I think about it. The A.C. is never on yet it is still cold. Maybe it's not the temperature that makes certain places cold but the atmosphere. Maybe I see this office as cold because of how I perceive my state of affairs. My body gives off heat but I still feel cold, maybe because these sessions have made me cold. I no longer feel vulnerable because of how many times I play 20 questions with this man so now I consider this room nothing but cold. It's like when you walk into a room and the smell escorts you back to a better time. You remember this smell the way you last were challenged with it, so now this smell will bring you back to this time and this time only.

I quickly bolt down the offset blue carpeted stairs. I wave to the receptionist and let the warm air past the exit embrace me.