Every exit is an entrance somewhere. – Tom Stoppard
The old man had started to look at his own life as too big, too scattered, too noisy, too cluttered, too crowded. But if he tried to chip away at the clamor like a sculptor searching for beauty in the stone… At first he felt he might just be afraid of what was left standing. But then he realized he was just being silly.
Anybody watch those shows where the couple has to buy a million dollar second home because their lives are just too too hectic and they absolutely need a condo in the Bahamas or a cabin at the lake? To relax. Then there’s the young gay couple who can’t agree on anything except the kitchen – looks just like yours – is a complete rip-out. Total tear-down.
The old man liked to watch those shows, real estate porn, because felt like house hunting but you didn’t actually have to sign any legal documents. Mind candy a guilty pleasure. They always say they want to “make it our own,” then do exactly what everybody else has done.
Imagine those poor fools who put in cherry cabinets and stainless appliances when it should have been white subway tiles and blue islands.
I am worried about you, his wife had said.
You should be, he replied.
I’m about to do something crazy.
