I was stopped at a red light, on my way to work. It wasn't raining, but it was in between rain. Like it could open up at any time and swallow the intersection whole. I was perfectly protected from any downpour that may occur, but not protected whatsoever from what I was about to witness.
Catty-corner from me, in front of a Walgreens, a tall black man crossed the street in this awkward half-run. He was unable to fully sprint because of what he was holding on to: three little boys, presumably his sons, or maybe nephews? He held the hand of a boy on each side of him, and then they branched off on the left, with that boy holding the hand of the third boy. And they ran together in a straight, synchronized line. Adding to the wholesomeness of the scene, the boys were dressed in bright jackets of red, blue, and green, and I couldn't help but think fondly of Huey, Dewey, and Louie. Thank you, perfect little family. You made my morning, and your togetherness brings joy to this world.
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I saw you.
I saw you scooch. We were in that tiny bathroom, two stalls, and we both just happened to come out at the same time, but you beat me to the sink. And rather than have me stand there, awkwardly, pretending to admire the bathroom art, while you finished your hygiene routine, I saw you move just the tiniest bit. It was almost imperceptible. But you scooched, allowing me a space to sidle up, and do things efficiently. I appreciate efficiency. And I appreciate you, Sink Goddess. You probably thought this was a skosh of kindness, but I interpreted it as a sky full of tenderness. It really touched me, and although I declined your offer with a, "Thank you, but I don't mind waiting," and then we joked about something I can't remember, I still think about that moment. I still think about you, Sink Goddess. *How often do we get to be present with one another like that? How often do we reach out to strangers? Or even those we don't consider strangers, but maybe who still are, in some aspects? It's amazing the things we walk by, unseen/untouched/unvoiced, every day. I can still visualize the moment clearly. Not in the sort of detail where I can tell you what anyone was wearing, or what aromas filled the night air. I'm not even sure why my wife and I were at the Little Caesars Arena, but I think it was for Cirque du Soleil: Crystal, a show we had received free tickets for from my work (amazing show, by the way). What I remember clearly is pausing for a moment to listen to a man play passionately on his make-shift drum set in the square outside of the arena. The set was created from a few 5 gallon buckets, and an extra bucket was poised under the musician, for a seat, even though he hovered above it.
As he played, the beat ran through me like a child doing hand springs. I was one of many mesmerized spectators. After a minute or two, this woman, cool as can be, and almost fluidly, came up behind the man, and knocked his seat over about six inches, so that it was in line with the musician's bottom. Previously, and what I hadn't noticed until then was, it had been askew, and if he had sat down, he would have missed, and fallen. The woman kept on walking. No thanks necessary. No acknowledgment required. She saved a human being, and just jogged on. Wow. My eyes filled with tears, and my whole body fleshed out in goosebumps. I already loved the man for his passion, and bringing art and joy to the world. I loved him for making my body move, and for letting me pause in my busyness for once, and just be. But in that moment, I genuinely loved that woman too. And, I guess, because I can't stop thinking about it, I can't stop loving her. It was this instant of pure humanity and grace, and I had the honor to witness it. I just wanted to say thank you for being beautiful. |
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March 2019
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