One Day in Time

Every now and again it strikes me that since each of us is made up of such specific stuff, which is special and unique in so many ways, why can't we just all just accept the beauty of our fellow human beings and get on with the process of living and dying, and get rid of all of the strife, the violence, and the killing of each other's dreams?

I know this sounds hopelessly naive.

But I'm having one of those days. One of those days I've always had since I was young. A bit of free time opens up, time slows down, my mind begins to wander, and I revisit thoughts that have recurred over and over throughout my lifetime.

At moments like this one, everything stands out crisp and shiny, as if sunlight beams played the role of yellow highlighters in a book you were studying for class.

Human by human. We proceed through this life knowing people. They come and go. Some are kind to us and others rip us off. Some we become intimate with; most not. But when you sit back and think about them, peoples' voices and expressions and gestures return to you, even of at times you cannot recall their names.

I should personalize all of this. Today I took my car into the mechanic's shop for a tuneup. I walked back through the Mission to my house, and then later retraced the route to pick it up.

Along the way I passed many people, men and women, young and old, mainly Latino, but also some white, black or Asian. I spoke to no one and no one spoke to me. None of us know anything whatsoever about one another.

From appearances, who are any of us to draw conclusions or issue judgements?

I know in the eyes of anyone who may have noticed me today that I am an elderly white man, who now walks slightly bent, not quite as erect as even a few years back, a little uncertain at corners, worried about traffic, and ever so slightly disoriented as to where I am.

This is largely the product of living alone for too long, without a partner, or anyone to help me navigate through life. Although I think I am still strong, self-sufficient, and competent, I also know the pressures of life are getting to me, and self-doubt has crept into my world to an extent I never knew until now.

I have become cautious in the city.

Naturally, I wonder which struggles lie behind all of those other faces as we pass one another like ships in the dark sea. Are they like me? What are the stories that none of them ever will tell?

-30-