The Carousel

I've been thinking about jobs lately. Many of my friends are discouraged with the jobs they have now, and are busy looking for others. I wonder why they're unhappy, although, at times, I can certainly relate.

I remember the story of an orphan, who spent much of his youth at a local amusement park. He would sit by the grand carousel for hours, immersing himself in the smells of cotton candy and popcorn, the blurring colors of wooden horses racing past, and the triumphant sound of the bavarian pipe organ. With no family, little education, and few prospects, the owner of the park took him in, and entrusted him to look after the grand old merry-go-round.

Through the decades, for more than seventy years, the carousel was in his care. In the evenings he would sit, beside proud black stallions, noble golden lions, and graceful white ponies, with a little tin box containing his jars of paint. Under a rainbow of lights, he mended the nicks and chips left by a week full of children, and smiled to himself as he whistled the pipe organ's familiar song.

I saw him once, when I was about five. His back was bent with time, and he held a cane at his side. But despite the lines on his face, and his gnarled old hands, there was something about him - in the way the that he whistled, and the way his eyes twinkled with pride - that drew my admiration. I had never seen a younger man. As he stood by the pipe organ, while children rushed to their mounts, a smile appeared, and he let out a laugh. When the music began to play, and the carousel started to turn, I remembered him. He was where he wanted to be. He was who he wanted to be. He was a man at peace.

As I talk to my friends, I think back to the carousel man. And while I have no desire to leave my own job to become a carnival barker, I feel a touch of envy toward those whose lives, work, and dreams intertwine.