There is a carpet in the hallway at work. It has a sine wave pattern, filled grey on the right, purple on the left as I walk toward my cube from the bathrooms or break room. I like to walk along the line, gently angling back and forth as I traverse the rolling hills of color.

I imagine that I’m building momentum like a marble on a rippled slide because as I hit a certain peak I veer off, like I’ve caught air and that’s when I have to turn to get into my cube. It’s like I’ve executed a jump off of a ramp to get back to my station.

I’m frequently tempted to shout “Whee!” as I do this.

There is a life I’m living that no one but me experiences. It’s full of strange interactions, and in it I’m frequently a guest on radio interview shows like Fresh Air. In this life I’m not remarkable; I don’t fly or have super powers. Mostly I’m me, only motivated and capable of realizing the ideas that are constantly floating around my brain.

In reality, my world is full of mundane interactions and no one cares to interview me. When I try to be creative, usually I have to settle for an approximation of what I saw or heard or created in my head. In my inner life, I’m smarter than the real me, I’m always kind to people for the right reasons and I don’t let fear of failure or the unknown stop me from doing what I most want to do.

The person that lives inside myself, who leads that life I don’t share externally, would totally yell “Whee!” when he spun on his heel toward his cubicle.

Today, I still walked along the carpet pattern. I still spun toward my cube, and I still couldn’t whoop with imaginary excitement as I did so.

But.

I whispered.