Tuesday 11 June 2024 in 2024

The insistent chimes of my alarm dragged me from dreams of soaring interest rates. Another Tuesday; today, the porridge won, with berries and a sprinkle of almonds for protein. Yoga had to wait for after work.
Shoulder-to-shoulder, me and my fellow corporate slugs lurched towards the City, a collective wave of humanity surging through London’s underbelly.
I hurried toward the towering glass and steel of my office building, and exchanged polite greetings with my fellow drones as we waited for the lift.
Inside the elevator, a question snagged at my mind. Mr. Mustard was the epitome of a man working in finance, radiating an aura of unwavering confidence. Yet, beneath that facade, what lurked? Was he wrestling with daily fights with his spouse, or the existential dread of another day in the financial machine?
We all wear masks at work, these carefully constructed personas that scream “I’ve got this!” But who are we beneath them? The tailored suits Mr. Mustard wears, do they exist outside the office? Does he shed them for comfy shorts and catch-up episodes of Bridgerton at home?
The lift doors sighed open onto my floor.
Settling into my desk, I booted up my computer. The morning unfolded in a familiar blur - emails, reports, and back-to-back calls. But thoughts of Mr. Mustard lingered, like an itch I couldn’t stop scratching.
We build narratives about the people we see every day - the barista with the handlebar mustache, the harried security officer, the office manager. We think we know them based on these daily snippets, these silly little manufactured slices of life. But those snippets are just that - tiny pieces of a vast, unseen picture.
What about me? Do other people define me by spreadsheets and board meetings? Do they ever think that there’s another “Anna” outside work who explores hidden corners of London on weekends and volunteers at the local animal shelter?
Our identities, it seems, are a constantly negotiated mess. Shaped by the roles we play, the people we interact with, the experiences we accumulate. They shift and morph depending on the context. But somewhere behind it all, is there a core “me”? Or are we simply a collection of masks, each one a performance tailored for a specific audience?
Lunch was a lukewarm affair - leftover lentil soup dug out of the freezer this morning. The afternoon flew by in a blur of presentations and reports.
By the time I left the office, the city was bathed in the golden glow of late afternoon sunlight.
The weight of the day pressed down on me, but I had a new book to start reading on the way home - “Fooled by Randomness.” An exploration of chance and uncertainty in the market. Maybe, just maybe, the randomness of life wasn’t so different from the random fluctuations of the financial markets. We may not know who we are entirely, but perhaps that’s the beauty of it. The chance to rewrite our narratives, to shed masks and discover the person beneath (if that’s even possible). As I stepped off the train, the book tucked under my arm, I couldn’t help but wonder - who was I going to be tonight?