The paradox of city living. Is I see more. Than I should. Than I sometimes can bear. But I feel more at home within this glass house of society than I ever did in the planned of community of normalness. That never felt normal. I awake early to move the car. That if not will be decorated in a ticket which could buy me a meal, a drink, and something else more desired.
The day moves in waves above my head- the clouds move in a pattern I will never see again but I am struck and stand for a moment. The sun paints a picture on the etch sketch of its canvas. Not in black and white and gray. But perfectly brilliant colors only to last for right now. If I had awoken early to move my car. I would have missed it. No driveway or designated parking place and more parking tickets than I should admit aloud. If I had woken up I would not see the mother with her child taking him to school. He is almost her size and they move in unison. No words. But talking. Still. I wouldn't have seen this father hold the hands of his daughter. And see her jump up on this curb covered in trash. No trash can. Available. Smiling still. Next to the building clean. But still newly graffitied. It will be painted over soon.
If I had not woken up I would not have talked to the teenage boy with glassy eyes of sleep as we walk across the street. He wouldn't have told me he has been growing out his hair since he was a baby. He would not of heard me and see me smile. He would not have heard my wish that he woke up before he got school. I would not have seen his face tired and growing with anticipation of a smile. A real genuine look. Into the eye. If I had not awoken on this day. So early. I might not have seen the community I call home.
Later. I would not have been given a homeless woman's gas bill payment. I sat on a bench. She left me her payment- another envelope addressed to someone else- and kept walking. I didn't know what to do. To pick it up and touch it or leave it behind. Her conversation continues as she walked away. If I didn't pay attention. I might have missed the child inside the dumpster. The recycling variety foundation built in cardboard. His after school activity helping his father. Collect. For his family. I smile at him. For his strength. For my hope. That his hard work pays off. That he still will be freedom to be a child. And as I walk I feel the tears of the sea of me well up.
Living in the city has not made me hard. Or soft. It has made me human. It has made me realize the reality of statistics being people. And people mattering more. It has made me realize. There are no ways to build walls to avoid the realities that are humanity. Beautiful ugly growing into the realness. I sometimes close my eyes to not see. But not for too long. I have to open them again. Or I'll miss the good stuff.
The paradox of this city is how beautiful the rawness of every day that brings me to tears. It touches me. And I let it. I don't read the news. I just walk outside and let the pace of this city. Teach me. Teach me more than I ever learned from reading a book. And the fear. The fear of it being too much sometimes grows. But the beauty of it. Calms me again. The ebb and flow of this urban river. I sometimes stand on the river bed but today I will swim in its unknown currents.
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