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| Brooklyn Sunset |
After
moving to Brooklyn from Long Island, it was immediately apparent that
public transportation would preserve my sanity better than the
parking-driving hassles of commuting. So, every morning, regardless
of weather, I walk nearly a half-mile to my subway stop, the terminus
of an occasionally reliable local line, and then spend 30-45 minutes
observing humans and reading. Very little shocks me anymore, but
then again, the unpredictable nature of people is a beautiful part of
life.
According
to reliable sources, in 2011, the New York subway system serviced an
average of 5.3 million daily week-day “rides.” Those numbers
translate to much better people viewing than any reality television
show, and as much creative talent vying for your spare change as the
creative TV talent vying for your votes. On the subway I've seen a
tatted up guy in leathers openly reading “Fifty Shades of Gray,”
and a duo of rappers perform Capoeira during rush hour [on a moving
train!]; I've been serenaded by a mariachi band and by a trumpet
playing “Amazing Grace” [very loud in the car!]. In the stations
I've heard a musical saw [Atlantic Terminal], live jazz [Union
Square], and a Barry White wannabe [Penn Station]. And, at least once
a day, I am humbled by some situation that screams at me to look at
how blessed my life and circumstances really are.
On
any given day I am presented with many opportunities to give my spare
change to others. In addition to the buskers, there are the
'regulars' asking for spare change as well as various other
presentations of need. My inner emotional responses to these
requests vary from pity and compassion to anger and skepticism.
Sometimes there are people who do not make outward requests—their
appearance and plight is the most humbling of all.
One
particular man in the breezeway at the Borough Hall station
indirectly taught me the true essence of feeling gratitude and being
present in life. On most days after work, this man stands in the
breezeway with his shopping cart of possessions. He does not ask for
change, but people regularly stop and hand it to him. He always
offers a “Hello” and is usually reading a book. One evening on
my way through the breezeway, he politely asked me if I would spell
the word “little” for him. I did stop and his enthusiasm for
learning was uplifting. The joy in his simple request clarified for
me just how much of my life, skills, and opportunities that I take
for granted.
I
also realized I was not fully living in and appreciating my present
circumstances. A few years ago I wrote a blog about my wish cup—a
cup I fill with found money as I work toward something I am wishing
for; when the wish cup is full, the wish will have manifested. About
six years ago I had started a wish cup and was diligently collecting
found money. I kept the wish cup in an ancient Chinese rice box, and
eventually the change began spilling out into the box. Although my
'wish' had not yet materialized, my faith and the fun of the process
kept me collecting.
(For an idea of how much money I have found,
see the picture here of the bag).
Fast
forward to my spelling moment in the subway station. The joy that man
expressed at learning something I took for granted shifted my
perspective. I realized how much I take for granted. I did not need
to keep wishing for something when what I really needed was to
appreciate where I was and what I had right now. Because I had
always felt like a caretaker for the found money anyway, I packed it
up and took it to the man in the breezeway. I told him how all the
money had been found and was full of wishes and full of luck. He
smiled, thanked me, and went back to reading his book. Although I am
still a proponent of goals, I admit there is also something
liberating about setting wishes free.
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