Arthur Wentz looked out his office window. He had had this same view for twenty three years now and it was a grand view. His was a corner office on the thirty-third and highest floor in the new Commerce Bank building. He overlooked the river, the baseball and football stadiums, both new within the last ten years, and the eastern skyline of the city. On mornings like today the sun sparkled on the surface of the river and gave the streets and avenues below a clean look, like they had all been freshly swept.
He had made his way to this coveted space through the disciplined use of his time, learning early in his career to prioritize and to focus on what was before him; to move the ball every day, even if only a few yards at a time. He had been bold and had not given up. Diligence, finally, was rewarded. He had enjoyed the action and the competition. He had enjoyed winning and being a player – a trusted part of the commerce that ran the city and created wealth.
But today his agenda and his to-do list sat untouched on his broad mahogany desktop as he stared out the window into the spring sunrise. He had no particular worries this day; no looming deadlines; no impending diminution of any of his several substantial revenue streams. All was at peace at home. Both daughters well married and with children near enough by for him and his wife to enjoy. But as he did almost every spring, on this morning he felt a sense of unsettledness, incompleteness, almost loss.
And he looked at the morning sky and tried to remember what it was about spring and what it was about April sunrises that inspired such longing. He thought of so many things – his daughters as youngsters, in piano recital; his grandfather’s prayers before dinner; his high-school baseball coach who had passed on only the month before. He thought of an old girlfriend.
And he continued to stare into the golden sky as if looking for some sign. For some indication of the way home.