"No, I don't believe my thoughts make my life." Bobby casually watched the pretty girl crossing the park with her dog.
Joe prodded, "Not even a little?"
"Can't you let it go and just enjoy the moment?" He started noticing her after work a few weeks ago. "I mean, sure if I kept repeating to myself that I'm miserable, I don't suspect that would create anything good. But I also don't think saying 'I'm happy' over and over will elicit joy." Maybe she's new to the neighborhood?
"No, I'm not talking about affirmations." Joe paused to admire one of the first warm spring afternoons of the year. "I'm talking about thoughts as belief." It's as if Mother Nature spilled a box of crayons on a grey and brown city-wide canvas. "Let's say you held this idea that you couldn't make much money. Do you think that might influence your income?"
"Who knows? I mean we get paid the same every two weeks. It doesn't matter what I think." Or, more likely, she just got the dog, which is what's been bringing her out.
Joe leaned back, "That belief might keep you from advocating for yourself or taking on new responsibilities that could lead to promotions. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy."
Bobby rolled his eyes. "So, are you saying if I just changed my mind, a raise would magically appear?"
Joe chuckled. "Not magically. But it opens doors. It allows you to see opportunities, to approach work with a different energy. It's a domino effect, really."
Bobby’s gaze followed the girl, who was now laughing as the playful puppy tugged her along on the leash. He thought about his job, the comfortable routine, the predictable paycheck, and mostly how he hadn't even considered saying hello to her. "Joe, I ain't buying what you're selling. Besides, neither of us has gotten a raise in two years." He found himself unconsciously straightening his tie and running a hand through his hair. If he was more self-aware, he would tell himself it was entirely unrelated to the girl or that he had just made a decision that would change the trajectory of his near future.
by George Alger
Visit the archive to see the latest or GeorgeAlger.com to see even more.
Enter your email below to join the readers of Liminal Stories.