Monday, September 15, 2014


   One never really knows what to expect. Even within our thoughts of how the word should run, we are overwhelmed with the reality that nothing has gone the way we planned, and yet we are still here. Living. Walking. Breathing. I hop on the bus in the morning on the way to the office and I am surrounded by suits. The closer to Midtown we get, more suits join. Some suits are more worn and others created to have that vintage feel. Some are navy, others grey. They all read with concerned faces. They read a folded Wall Street Journal or the app update on their advanced tablet. They are plugged in. "Or are they?" I think to myself, they look rather consumed in a large number of small words filled with news dripping from the page. I cannot help but wonder if they worry, or are worried, or if I am the same as them, only younger. What do I worry about? Does it take over the peace of my being? Do I consistently crunch numbers in my mind to make ends meet correctly? I have learned that worry is a choice. Even when a person feels as though they are unable to escape the burdensome thoughts, it is a choice. A skill would be making light of the situation.
   Two elderly ladies were in Central Park yesterday. Between the two of them fumbling for directions to Fifth Avenue, they stumbled upon us. They felt silly as native New-Yorkers and were overwhelmed by their miscalculated choice of direction, yet they carried on with us as we led them to their destination. We were strangers, yet they opened up to us. They needed to be turned around and we looked like just the couple for the job. I was delighted that they would ask for the favor, and even more touched when I saw no worry in their demeanor.

Currently Listening: "Happy Alone" by Saintseneca