The Friend and Stranger

i could not have seen you coming.
i certainly saw you coming in that i saw you moving toward me-
i saw you walk on the sidewalk-
i saw you with your friends.
i did not know that you'd be such a friend to me.

i could not have seen you coming.
had i known you would mean so much to me-.

had i known you would mean so much to me
i might have wanted to stop my heart sooner.

but i am glad i did not know.

----

quick, furtive glances of strangers.
unparalleled.
the highest unspoken compliments,
or the most perverse, greediest intentions.
i think i know which is which
but i'm so unused to the former
i expect the latter.
but these, your eyes this time were too quick for mine.

i didn't know i'd want you when i saw you.
have you seen me before?
did you have a feeling i existed?
or did you spot an empty seat, sit down, then hear me laugh?
were you beguiled by my smile?
did you hope i'd note you, too?
or did you only need an un-returned glanced?
matchless the feeling, indeed;
too eager to be mimicked.

Funny thing about emotions...

So, the funny thing about emotions-. No, wait. The natural thing about emotions: they change. They're supposed to change. People whose emotions don't change are annoying and fake. We don't like annoying and fake. We like honesty and realness. Now the funny thing about honesty and realness is that one can often be too honest and real? You think that's impossible? Well, have you ever verbalized what's really on your mind when you're angry? That's being too honest.

One of the greatest, most precious, consequences of being too honest, however, is discovering who won't hate you for it. Discovering who won't run away from you. Also discovering how much you might need to change in order to deserve the people who won't hate you, or run away from you.

I've been told that change is good. I like change. I don't like big changes toppling after me like dominoes. I like subtle changes. I appreciate subtlety. I like when-the-ocean-beats-against-the-rocks change. I like slow, steady change. Change that must occur day to day, like routines, so that when I turn around to see the hole I've dug, I've actually not dug a hole at all. Really, any holes I might have dug are just exits out of the mound! Ooh, like Edmond Dantès and the Priest digging out a tunnel! Or!- or like Andy Dufresne! Yeah, Andy!- you redeem Shawshank!

But back to emotions naturally changing.

If emotions didn't change I wouldn't know the people I do. If my emotions never changed- well, I- I wouldn't've known such great things as love, longing, friendship and sadness exist beyond my imagination; that these emotions exist as fluidly and abundantly in a stranger's life as in my life. That's a sad existence: to live without others.

No man is an island. Even monks live in community, however solitary.

Even the annoying, fake ones--what's life without them? What if they want to change in order to deserve your friendship? What if they're waiting for someone who's willing to be that person who will hear too much honesty and realness? I don't know. Maybe. It's just a thought I had.

Because sometimes I don't like how my emotions change. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to feel so self-conscious, aware of someone's compliments or insults--what then would my reason over-think if I didn't have these emotions?

Ah, I must be a whole person:

"And all the time--such is the tragi-comedy of our situation--we continue to clamour for those very qualities we are rendering impossible. You can hardly open a periodical without coming across the statement that what our civilization needs is more 'drive', or dynamism, or self-sacrifice, or 'creativity.' In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honor and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful." -C.S. Lewis' The Abolition of Man

Yes, this is a little out of context. A lot out of context, but basically!- I become upset with others who treat me poorly--who did not give me my dues--but who've I treated poorly? Who've I disregarded? Who've I walked all over? I probably have done all those things. I'm not better than the person who did so to me.

I can't expect someone to be virtuous, enterprising, beautiful, endearing, encouraging without being so myself? Not that I'm going to walk around showing everyone what it means to be all those things--that's stupid. But to just be those things, right? Am I right?

Ah, I'm probably wrong.

All I know is that I can't be afraid of fickle emotions. I can't be afraid of angry, sad or bitter thoughts for these emotions give way to peace, happiness and contentment.

Have a good night.

We go together like...

Growing up I wanted to know how many friends I had, or could have. What middle schooler didn't want to know how many friends he or she had? You can imagine my disappointment when shopping in Claire's all the BFF jewelry could only be split between two, or among three, and I totally had more BFFs than that in middle school! But I just couldn't find any jewelry that could be shared among, at least, fifteen best friends. 

But I didn't really have fifteen best friends. I only had one. I think, at the time, I could only handle one best friend at a time. I mean, I liked talking to lots of different people, but I think middle schoolers are sometimes too insecure to know what to do with so many best friends which explain a lot of premature 'somebody I used to know' stories. 

So, I went on a walk this morning, by myself. Well, me and God. Or, at least, I was on my way to see him. I had to tell him something. 

I sat and started to write out a prayer. Short, simple; lots of lookingintothedistance, wondering what else to tell God. When a thought occurred to me: I don't have to be anywhere. I don't have my own thinking spot. I don't have a place where, if I ran away, people would intuitively know to find me. I don't have to be somewhere in order to talk to God. I just need to start talking...praying. 

I should be able to be anywhere and still feel close to those who are closest to me: something I couldn't understand as a middle schooler. 

On my walk back home I found these two puzzle pieces. They do not go together. 

These two pieces would make a horrible BFF necklace, bracelet or ring. 

But when you turn one of the pieces over...

They may not be right next to each other, but it is evident they are pieces of the same puzzle.

I don't have to be anywhere.

What if, really, we weren't just two pieces. A Romeo and Juliet; a Sherlock and John; lovers. A pair of friends are always excited to be joined by a third. 

I don't have to be your conjoined twin to know we get along, especially not at first glance--we might be as insecure as middle schoolers before we can know we're really part of the same puzzle. 

What if I never really knew my fifteen middle school friends because one of us was wearing a mask, and here we are, older, somewhat mask-less, and really, very similar. Yes! We really do want to do the same things! yes! We really are interested in the same things! Yes! We can talk to other people without throwing fits of intense jealousy or rage. We don't belong to each other. It's not us against the world! I am who I am because of the other puzzle pieces I've met along the way. 

Whether we were part of the same puzzle, or our crooks fit well together; whether we were completely abhorred by the other--doesn't matter. 

I may not find the right BFF necklace in Claire's to share with all my good friends. But it's good to know that I am part of a small piece of a huge puzzle, and that we're being put together by God. 

No, I don't have to be anywhere. 

Anyone that I used to know I may not have really known. 

Besides, whoever heard of a puzzle with only two pieces? Whoever ate peanut butter and jelly without bread? Even gluten-free bread! 

When I have good news I like to share it.

May I only be brave enough to be.

Glorified Tourists

I don't know much about where I live. At least, not all the little details. 

Me: Oh, and these are Brownstones!

Friend: Oh, what are they made out of?

Me: ...brown stones? Haha, I'm sure they're not all brown-colored. You can paint over stones.

But the little I do know seemed to suffice for our adventure last Saturday. That and our smartphones are embedded with GPS systems [:

Walking around the city, any city, you will always overhear conversations, and encounter strangers, find new holes-in-the-wall (or another Starbucks) especially when you're willing to get lost. There's nothing more enjoyable than walking about aimlessly, your only goal to enjoy the company you're with. What else do you need?

"Food."

Oh, well, that's a given! Good food always comes with good friends!

Now, if you find it necessary you'll have to forgive me for this next bit: I always forget that every adult used to be a child. 

How did I come to this thought?

Walking around the city, any city, you will always overhear conversations, and encounter strangers, find new holes-in-the-wall (or another Starbucks), and if you're not careful you'll forget that these conversations, strangers and holes-in-the-wall are someone else's familiar scene.  

It was really the strangers that struck me. They all were, at one point or another, an adorable baby learning to walk, to talk, to feed himself. I never forget that every child will become an adult. I forget that every adult used to be a child.

What's stopped our childlikeness?

Have we forgotten what it is to fly?

Have these city walls worn us down so that their previous glamour is now moldy and damp?

But the strangers I encountered: the homeless, the immigrants, emigrants; the tourists (not very much unlike me), the artists, the students, the runners; the commuters (everyone) they all wore expressions that I couldn't label for you. They stood there, alone or with a couple others, mostly with headphones on, stuck in their individual worlds; going about their day.

Were they as methodical as children?

Sometimes, I think everyone needs to be a tourist in their own hometown just so they can encounter some of the local mysticism, historicity: so that everyone can remember what it was like and, hopefully, be more grateful, for the privileges they now have. 

Yes, we all want to be remembered, but do we remember anyone?

I wish I knew more about Harlem's Brownstones. Well, then, I'll study up on them! That way the next time you follow me around I won't be a glorified tourist

glorified tourist definition :: one who resides in, but knows little to nothing about, tourist hot spots

(the term 'glorified' may also describe babysitters, cooks, etc.; any person who is familiar with, but not an expert in, said profession or   category)

I'll be your legitimate tour guide.

I imagine that if I know more about the area, more about its history and mysticism, I'll be more apt to remember its residents: rich and poor. These are my neighbors, after all. Don't I want to know my neighbors?

I could wander anywhere if you let me, and if you didn't mind my disappearing for a few hours because I promise you I will disappear if you don't wander with me. I may or may not find my way back to you, but whether I find you or don't I hope it won't bother you if I don't find you.