Give thanks for my hungry eyes. For choosing to look up on the bus, off technology. To take in a sleeping grandma on a summer stoop, a woman hitting the pavement with push-ups at a car garage, a tableau of cell repair/psychic stand/tire shack so unexpected, so beautiful in its old New York character.
Today I deeply communicated with three of my dearest friends. I am full of gratitude for my anchors in life, these beautiful spirits I struggle and learn and grow beside - pulling me always back to center. The sky broke out in a brief but holy thunderstorm, lightening cracking the sky in two. I have taken to watching psychological thrillers before bed, a habit that gets my heart racing, pumps the blood fast. I am understanding something about the balance of presence and escape. Today a man told me about his life journey on the subway. He was handsome but missing his bottom teeth. Like many of us, he was hurt by love and trying to love again. I saw photos of his friends and his son and his new lady. They all smiled up the pictures. We acknowledged the ways we are tired, and our many blessings. He went off to where he was going and I changed my last name at the DMV. And now, this night street covered in rain. This gentle breeze. This knowing that all the fragments that make up what we call happiness are always with us. It just takes the right moments for them to click together for a single minute and it’s enough to start tomorrow over again.
I’ve been pondering the exciting idea of tumbling into purpose. The journey of trial and error: you like a lot of things, and clearly don’t like some others. But the things you like, you try - and usually something transformative happens that makes it stick because it feels good or makes you better: you grew, you changed, you were affirmed, you found yourself with a knack for it, someone in the field touched you. It’s different than waking up and knowing something, it’s more like feeling your way through a dark corridor and the light surprises you in its brightness as it shines behind each new door. It’s magical. Keep stumbling forward, keeping tripping and falling and getting back up.