I gave her a dollar when she asked for transportation money, knowing she probably wouldn’t use it for bus fare. In that moment, I was happy I carried cash. She was thankful and her eyes belonged to someone. anyone that needed that dollar more than I did. My dad let me know it was a mistake for me to do that. Loudly saying that her ‘boo’ was waiting behind to steal my wallet. He told me they work in pairs. I rolled my eyes. I felt sad. “It’s okay to trust people sometimes.” I said and then felt my arm pull my bag closer to my chest.
She’s only 3. ish. But she wears the world comfortably, as if it were hers. Climbing over everything. Going up to strangers. As for the world, it probably is. I guess it will be. It belongs to people like that. There’s a certain amount of charm associated with that level of presumption–that level of unapologetic existence.
When you’re feeling insecure, stop and consider the possibility that you’re giving people too much credit. That you’re placing them in a spot to judge you when they have no qualifications to do so. There is no one better than you. There are just people. People that think they’re the most interesting. People that are wrong. Just as wrong as you. Who think they have the answers, people you want to believe have the answers, but we’re all insecure, and we’re all pretending to know what’s best, and we’re only taking our best guess. Look how smart I am. Every person on this planet is more intelligent than I, and is it any good? Does it really matter?
Don’t be intimidated by bosses, by CEOs or celebrities. They’re people too. People just as wrong as you and maybe more so. Their words have weight because we decided they do not because they hold some sort of objective truth. They carry baggage and probably more of an exaggerated sense of self-importance. So get over them and get over yourself, and keep walking. Have some more confidence because you exist. And that’s a big deal. You exist. And maybe that’s good enough. Speak your truth.
Don’t doubt yourself if your opinion falls on the opposite side of the majority, every innovator’s has. And the masses are misguided — influened by status and greed and positive opinions. If someone laughs at you, they’re the stupid one. Misguided enough to think they know better when they’re cutting themselves to fit perfectly inside the edges of a broken mold – a broken world. And there is no perfect fit or shape. We’re slaughtering other people and animals and spending billions of dollars a year on anti-depressants, distractions, pleasure, and heart attacks. And we’re wrong. And it’s all fucked up.
So exist as you. And consider the possibility that you’re enough.
She looked at him and saw herself. In uninhibited glory. And walked, with graceful assurance and an air of confidence that only ever comes from carrying the knowledge that you’re loved, absolutely – accepted.
And she looked at him, and she smiled as he called her beautiful.
And he looked at her, and he saw himself.
The tapping of his fingers seemed obvious. Boredom. The signal was clear, and she was too caught up into what she was saying to notice. But he kept asking questions. She kept talking. And talking. And maybe the whole thing wouldn’t be as poignant if he weren’t attracted to her. He who wanted her to stop talking. She who allowed herself to indulge in thought after thought, expressed. She who assumed he was picking up the words and creating inferences, digging deeper understanding. But there was nothing. Nothing but attraction and boredom.
He’s old. Legitimately. And if I were to see him on the street, with his walker, or at Denny’s at 7:00 am sharp, I probably wouldn’t think anything of it. But he’s in this coffee shop at 9:30pm playing the piano with so much grace and experienced practice.
It’s a great skill, really. I wonder how old he was when he started playing. And if he was young enough for it to be an attractive thing for his romantic interests. I imagine a time lapse as he’s sitting at the piano, a young man initially playing at social events–people from the 50’s swinging skirts and tapping toes around him. Then he turns slowly shrinking as his back starts to hunch in on itself, age touching fingers leaving spots and pulling at skin, and now here he is. Interesting how our hobbies become us. Carry us through life.
I need something like that. I’m young. All I do is think, and my thoughts are barely carrying me through now.
When someone opens the door on another using the restroom, who is at fault? The person that opened the door or the person that didn’t lock it?