I've measured out my life with coffee spoons...
I couldn't tell you when I started caring.
I'm assuming I was born with it. I had this birthmark for a long time before I knew about it. It's this patch-of-freckle looking thing on the side of my neck. It looks alot like a hickey, actually. It was strange to find a part of me that I never knew existed.
My mother taught me how to love, and how to have a heart. And in all honesty, that's all I needed. I shadowed my father's realistic (and perhaps pessimistic) view on life for a very long time. He was ambitious, but mostly for his own benefit. My sister has followed suit.
I would rather care.
I had a fleeting moment of glory today. I walked down to the Village. It's a street just off of campus that has all kinds of little shops and bars and restaurants.
I walked by the Village Green record store, and turned the corner of a barber shop. The barber has nice teeth and a bit of a Jamaican air to him. We smiled and waved at each other, our daily routine.
I kept walking and passed by the Travel Dimensions place, where several cats reside in the window. One of the cats went missing yesterday. It was on the front page of the newspaper today. A sign hung in the window with a few limp balloons that said they had found her, and she was home. I smile a bit inside.
I stopped at MT Cup, where everybody knows your name, or at least your coffee of choice. I fought the urge to have a cigarette on the way in. Everyone there can smoke, except for me. One month and one week since I quit, minus 2 moments of weakness.
I ordered my Zebra Mocha and practiced salsa dancing in my head. I learned how to salsa yesterday. My turns need some work.
Walking back, I ran into a guy, Aaron, who I met at a concert the other day. He works at Village Green Records. We talked for a minute, and he said he was on his way to schedule and appointment with that cute barber on the corner. So I joined him.
Cute Barber's real name is Algeir. He used to have a shop behind TIS Bookstore, and his shop has been a raging success since he moved its location. Aaron scheduled a haircut for next Thursday. I watched the TV screen, and observed the hair on the floor and off-white cross hung on the wall.
Aaron and I left the shop and stood on the street corner, talking about our favorite local bands and his misconceptions about the Women's Studies Program. I wished him well, and started walking.
My life, for one fleeting moment, was complete in the Village today. The birthmark on my neck made a little more sense.
I'm not one to believe in fate or destiny, because I believe it takes away from the impact we could make on the world with our decisions. But I realized that the options we have are already there. There are opportunities in each step I take in the Village, on campus, and in the world. There are chances to make the mundane extraordinary.
Even though I did not discover my birthmark until just a few years ago, it was always there. In a way, it was waiting for me this whole time.
By being realistic, optimistic, or pessimistic with our outlooks of life, we are limited to what we can do. It takes away from the heart of the world - from caring enough to take those chances.
I couldn't tell you when I started to care. But I stopped not caring today.
I'm assuming I was born with it. I had this birthmark for a long time before I knew about it. It's this patch-of-freckle looking thing on the side of my neck. It looks alot like a hickey, actually. It was strange to find a part of me that I never knew existed.
My mother taught me how to love, and how to have a heart. And in all honesty, that's all I needed. I shadowed my father's realistic (and perhaps pessimistic) view on life for a very long time. He was ambitious, but mostly for his own benefit. My sister has followed suit.
I would rather care.
I had a fleeting moment of glory today. I walked down to the Village. It's a street just off of campus that has all kinds of little shops and bars and restaurants.
I walked by the Village Green record store, and turned the corner of a barber shop. The barber has nice teeth and a bit of a Jamaican air to him. We smiled and waved at each other, our daily routine.
I kept walking and passed by the Travel Dimensions place, where several cats reside in the window. One of the cats went missing yesterday. It was on the front page of the newspaper today. A sign hung in the window with a few limp balloons that said they had found her, and she was home. I smile a bit inside.
I stopped at MT Cup, where everybody knows your name, or at least your coffee of choice. I fought the urge to have a cigarette on the way in. Everyone there can smoke, except for me. One month and one week since I quit, minus 2 moments of weakness.
I ordered my Zebra Mocha and practiced salsa dancing in my head. I learned how to salsa yesterday. My turns need some work.
Walking back, I ran into a guy, Aaron, who I met at a concert the other day. He works at Village Green Records. We talked for a minute, and he said he was on his way to schedule and appointment with that cute barber on the corner. So I joined him.
Cute Barber's real name is Algeir. He used to have a shop behind TIS Bookstore, and his shop has been a raging success since he moved its location. Aaron scheduled a haircut for next Thursday. I watched the TV screen, and observed the hair on the floor and off-white cross hung on the wall.
Aaron and I left the shop and stood on the street corner, talking about our favorite local bands and his misconceptions about the Women's Studies Program. I wished him well, and started walking.
My life, for one fleeting moment, was complete in the Village today. The birthmark on my neck made a little more sense.
I'm not one to believe in fate or destiny, because I believe it takes away from the impact we could make on the world with our decisions. But I realized that the options we have are already there. There are opportunities in each step I take in the Village, on campus, and in the world. There are chances to make the mundane extraordinary.
Even though I did not discover my birthmark until just a few years ago, it was always there. In a way, it was waiting for me this whole time.
By being realistic, optimistic, or pessimistic with our outlooks of life, we are limited to what we can do. It takes away from the heart of the world - from caring enough to take those chances.
I couldn't tell you when I started to care. But I stopped not caring today.