You should do what you want to do, what you think is the right thing to do.
Our neighborhood is a box. It limits us in certain ways, closes us off to a bunch of options, imprisons us. A marriage is a box and so is a family. Being a boyfriend is a box and the church is one too, maybe the most oppressive of them all. A factory is a box. The suburbs—maybe you don’t know what a suburb is—but they are boxes too. Hell, all of America is one. Boxes aren’t good things. They keep us from fulfilling our potential, from exploring fully the world and ourselves.
As we strolled back to the tracks, Doc asked if I was beginning to see a relationship between work and happiness.
“What do you mean?”
“Are people who have jobs happier than those who don’t?”
“Ummm…I’m not sure.”
“What about those factory workers who pelted us with rocks? Do you think they were happy?”
“What about Walter, when his job was reduced to doing the same thing, again and again, every 10 seconds? Do you think that made Walter happy?…