nice to see you

flip flop/back forth/down town/square round/over again

that's just what it is lately.


[and let me just throw in the sidenote now: just because i'm struggling, that i do struggle in the present moment or that i have struggled once upon a time, doesn't mean i'm ungrateful or negative or angry. i'm just as grateful for the darkness as i am for the light. just as understanding of sorrow as i am of joy.]


as i sit at a stop light, alarmed at the sudden spot of neon red, my eyes flicker away. flash/side/turn.

there's this man. gray hair. business guy, i can tell by the plain suit. he's the type that makes you wonder if he really wanted to do this all along. or was it just what was expected? and you'll never know the answer. and we don't really need to know. yes, now we're a we because i've invited you into my room. i watch him struggle with the gas machine. he can't figure out where to put the card. he's pushing buttons. it's 10 degrees outside. more buttons. no jacket. frustration. rubbing his hand over his bald spot. the gas tank is already open for god's sakes!!!! where is the right button??
 and this man doesn't know i'm watching him. i'm suddenly this voyeur observing the little things that make this life feel more human and less intimidating.
the cold
the suit
the stare
the gas tank
this experience
and i find myself wondering
light turns green
what if we all just had these little moments all the time [because we do]
and what if we all just sat in the rafters and silently observed them?
took these things in behind panes of glass?

because as this man fills his gas tank i hear the noises that go along with it. beep beep beep scoff SNAP click CHUG chug chug chug chug chug i substitute the silence for sounds in my own brain. for a moment, i'm right there with this guy.
i feel ya, dude. i totally get it.

and we've never even met.
and i don't really care if i ever do. especially because the guy is just trying to fill his gas tank, it's not like he's in a corner singing a beautiful song and i'm dying to walk over there and harmonize.


but  anyway

i could do that all the time if i wanted. with actual events. you know what i mean?
i could be a constant spectator without ever jumping in to fight.

the gas man example is strange and unfiltered, i know, but
here's the thing i realize:
when i observe but do not connect, when i am aware but not participating, a little piece of myself is reaching. perpetually straining.
dying to make contact with that other little piece of someone else.
and when i don't listen to such an urge, when i walk away with that it unfulfilled, i feel immediate loss.

and i don't think i like that feeling.