Divine intervention
I sank my third whiskey in the Strawberry Fields pub in Leeds, a short walk from the university campus. I drank alone at the bar, which is not my usual habit. I had cause. Troubles.
I had given it my all, had decisions to make and I had few options remaining.
As I lowered my empty shot glass to the bar, brooding over a fourth, I felt a heavy presence arrive at the stool beside me. The creaking of old, stiff leather announced this arrival.
I took a moment to adjust to this new company, and ordered that fourth. As the bar staff busied themselves with my order, a deep voice slowly made an observation.
‘You seem down’.
I’m not used to total strangers striking up conversations, but this wasn’t a usual day. I turned to this voice, curious.
I turned to the most massive punk rocker I have ever seen. Truly huge. Black leather biker jacket. Metal studs. Suitable tattoos. A crown of wild neon hair broadcast a vibrant emblem of rebellion. A sullen expression matched the deep enquiry.
I must admit, I was intimidated. Good manners seemed the wise option.
I offered a noncommittal response with a comment on my troubles. The punk sat in silence, and I assumed satisfied. His dark eyes remained fixed upon me with a sidelong gaze.
This silence had no end in sight.
I continued.
I explained that since I was ten years old I had pursued a dream. A degree in aircraft design and a period of intense PhD research and my dream would be complete. I would be Doctor. And now, that dream was over. My dream was no more.
The punk took a moment to consider my tale, frowned, and nodded at his own conclusion. “Not everything works out”, he conceded with sympathy.
I felt compelled to clear up this misunderstanding. I passed my finals in aerospace design. I secured a Masters in aerodynamics. I devoted four years to my PhD research, and today I had been awarded the title. From this day, I was to be addressed as Doctor.
The trouble was, I had reached the end of that plan I had made when I was ten. Since I was a boy I had always known where I was heading. Any time things had become hard, I could power through towards my goal. If I didn’t get the grades that I needed, I had the drive to find them from elsewhere. It wasn’t plain sailing. I had taken a detour into that Masters degree merely to get the grades required for the next step. My curiosity had accepted a doctorate in whatever was offered. During the rigours of PhD research, if it was late in the lab, and my endurance was flagging, that goal up ahead would keep me going. I had made a plan, stuck to it and had reached journey’s end. This objective had been my guiding light all the way, and I had eventually reached it.
But now, my dreams were behind me. Without that goal ahead of me, I was unmoored. As of today I was all out of ambition. I had only been Doctor for a few hours, but now didn’t know what to do.
My drink eventually arrived, and we sat quietly for a moment as I took a sip.
A broad smile spread across my new companion’s face. “So, Doc, you’re telling me that you’re miserably downing shots alone because you succeeded, the world is at your feet, and you are now free to do whatever you want?”
It took a moment for this to register. Once you have met an end, you have inevitably arrived at a beginning. I had reached my goals, had more qualifications than many, could probably do whatever I liked, and was now poised at the start of a whole new adventure. My mood lifted as I considered my bright new future and I felt like a fool for feeling any other way.
The bar stool creaked with relief as my companion stood, his face returned to stoic. Without another word, he headed for the exit and walked briskly out of the door and out of his brief role in my life.
He hadn’t even ordered a drink.
True story.
I think I might have seen an angel.
