Finding the Simple Life

He was only 42 years old, just four years older than me, but he seemed to have achieved so much more wisdom. Perhaps, it is in the next four years that I will gain his quiet demeanour. Somehow, I doubt it. I admired his quiet style as he drove me towards the shinkansen exit of Nagoya station.

Like so many other taxi drivers, he used to work as a truck driver. The money is good and although the hours are long, it has its compensation. This guy liked the long solitary drives from 11pm until 6am. He liked the absence of colleagues or nagging superiors. He was his own boss in his own truck.

He quit because it was time. You can'T be a truck driver for ever. It's tough on the body and it wears you down. You can drive a cab for ever, so it was time.

His salary was halved, but he doesn't mind. It's a simpler life. He gave up eating out and drinking out. Now he drinks at home and cooks himself some yaki soba.

The simple life is good.