People are more than the jobs they perform.

As a society, we have an unfortunate tendency to categorize by cramming into prejudicially assigned boxes the core essence of a stranger based on the task, project, or career stream he or she happens to be swimming in at the moment.

We look past the person, and only see the uniform, hat, or badge. But a face full of green makeup doesn’t make you Frankenstein, and much to the chagrin of a nation full of six-year-old Halloween candy hunters, strapping a red cape to your collar won’t help you take flight.

This is not to say that we can’t or shouldn’t take pride in the duties that drive the majority of our days. Embracing an impetus to help make this planet a safer, kinder, cleaner, and more compassionate space meteor is noble work, and that grand goal can be accomplished in myriad ways.

But our hearts do not beat in militant metronomic rhythm to the clicks of an analog time clock. Our spirits soar when we leave a little space for syncopation.

The next time you stroll past the invisible clerk, avoid eye contact at the counter, or disregard a service rendered, take a second to see the soul beneath the suit.

We’re all just candy hunters, sliding on temporary masks and searching for the right fit.

Adolescence Interrupted