The Envelope

I came across it while rummaging through a box I found in the garage.  It was the very box I used to pack up my belongings the day I left the bank.  Although I vaguely recall writing it, I don't remember exactly when or what motivated me to do so.  I'm fairly certain I composed it at work, because it's in a State Bank letterhead envelope.  I can imagine something took place that frustrated me, so I sat down at my desk, opened Word and began typing, no doubt as a kind of self-therapy.  The question that I have now is what is in this letter?  There's no way of knowing, of course.  It's sealed and has Do Not Open Until November 16, 2011 on the envelope.  That's my 40th birthday.

I should tell you I'm a planner.  I set deadlines.  I set a deadline for buying our first house and when Blythe and I would go on our first overseas vacation.  I set a deadline for when our yard would being fully landscaped (which hasn't happened yet).  The list of examples goes on.  There are those who might think that's a proactive approach, but the truth is it all stems from impatience.  It usually goes something like this, "I've had it!  The yard will be comepletely landscaped by the end of April!"  Another problem with this deadline setting of mine is the deadlines are somewhat arbitrarily chosen, giving little consideration to factors outside of my control.  So, it's not difficult for me to imagine the contents of this letter being chock-full of expectations I had for myself by the time I reach forty years old.  But if so, what are they?

Could it be that I am supposed to have at least $200,000 in my retirement account by that date?  Maybe I'm supposed to have moved into a larger, nicer house by then.  Perhaps I'm supposed to have run a marathon or have our current house remodeled?  Maybe.  But I don't think so.

Truth is, I have no idea what this envelope contains, but I feel fairly certain that it mentions something about being a pilot for a major air carrier by the time I reach forty years old.  That objective would have made sense for an aspiring pilot stuck as a frustrated middle manager under a glass ceiling at a bank.  If that's the case, then I feel I'm on pace to possibly satisfy my own expectations.

The envelope now resides pinned to my corkboard.  It serves as a steady reminder to soldier on. I admit I wrestle with the temptation to disregard the instructions on the front of the envelope.  Curiosity pulls at me to open it.  What would be the harm?  Well, I don't mind telling you I'm a little scared to open it.  Scared? you ask.  Yeah.  A little.  What if I've not accomplished the things in the envelope?  What if my progress isn't significant enough?  What if I've fallen short of the expectations of the man at the bank?  I probably won't take it lightly. I'll be disappointed in myself for sure.

Then again, I suppose it's possible that the envelope is just a self-written birthday greeting.  Possible.  But I don't think so.