The trash collector

There was a trash collector who worked in the neighborhood. He'd pull the vehicle that was used to load up the garbage-a cycle with rectangular open topped container at the back-stopping near the corporation garbage bins.
I was walking home that day when I noticed him.
I've seen uniformed men like him before but, this man, was singing.
He was singing to himself as if he was happy.
It appears that he was enjoying tossing the garbage in his vehicle container.
I had to stop and think.
In my cynical mind, I thought that one could not possibly be a trash collector and be happy at the same time.
I couldn't help it.
Here I am, going to school, getting the big education,  to someday earn the big bucks.
And perhaps then I'll be happy.
Then there's this man. Happy.
It didn't add up.
It didn't make sense.
The life formula for happiness had stuck in my head at a young age, had been made practically obsolete by this man.
There was something that Mr. TrashCollector seemed to have figured out.
He told it to me, though we never even had a conversation.
He spoke it me with just his actions.
And what I understood was that he loved what he did. He chose to enjoy whatever he was doing.
Maybe he had a totally different reason for being happy, but perhaps choosing to be happy right now was what I needed to do, instead of waiting for better things to come my way and then be happy.
Thoughts?