At a tiny grocery in Romania, a clerk scans my sandwich and drink, and I ask him, “How is your day so far?”
He shrugs. “Oh, not so good, not so good. But thank you for asking about me.”
“Not good? What’s the matter?”
“I’m working,” he says as explanation.
“Ah, and you would rather not be working?”
“I would rather be working on my music career?
“Music career? What instrument do you play?”
“I play several instruments. I write and record my own music, but it is not enough yet. I still need a job.”
“It is sad that artists must often suffer for their work.”
“Yes, but it’s okay,” he says. “It is part of my journey. It is necessary.”
I wish him good luck as I leave the store, walking straight out into the plaza where a woman is playing the harp, working on her musical career.
