Not So Inconsequential After All
“I’m a big believer in winging it. I’m a big believer that you’re never going to find a perfect city travel experience or the perfect meal without a constant willingness to experience a bad one. Letting the happy accident happen is what a lot of vacation itineraries miss, I think, and I’m always trying to push people to allow those things to happen rather than stick to some rigid itinerary.”
I bumped into the same guy three different times this morning in the grocery store. He was friendly enough, totally just minding his own business. It's just that we seemed to be working our way through the aisles at the same pace but coming from opposite directions, so we kept having to maneuver our carts around each other.
I often notice the people around me in the grocery store. There is something about that kind of public space -- it's both shared and not. Today, my thoughts drifted to COVID-19, wondering whether people were altering their everyday habits or going about business as usual. I thought back to my conversation with Mani from earlier, while we were making a list. Stock up on toilet paper? Wait and see? We are more in the wait and see camp.
I'm aware of the impulse to check for news updates on an hourly basis, yelling to my wife in the other room, "First case reported in Vermont," quickly followed by, "two in New Hampshire." I'm aware that what will in all likely be declared a global pandemic (or has it already?) is going to get worse before it gets better, and that those with compromised immune systems, low-wage jobs, and poor health care options (or a combination thereof) will be hardest hit. This is the best piece I've read so far on the situation, by Malia Jones, a scientist at the University of Wisconsin. I'm aware that I'm still planning to travel to Oregon this summer, and also that there is uncertainty. I'm also aware of the fury and grief I feel over Warren's withdrawal from the primaries and the way the media treated her candidacy.
Aviva's in Ohio for a few days and Pearl's with his dad this weekend. Yesterday, I went to a bat mitzvah in the morning and took a long nap in the afternoon, then in the evening we had a stay-home date night and watched Crazy Rich Asians, which we missed when it was in theaters last year. A simple day, filled with song, rest, and time with Mani after a busy week for us both. During the Amidah, the central prayer of the morning service, as always, I ended up with my eyes closed, giving thanks for each of my beloveds, a kind of heart inventory, saying each of their names to myself. Each week, it's a moment of heightening my awareness and gratitude -- and not taking anyone's earthly existence for granted.
This earthly existence.
So I paid for my groceries, which fit just barely into the four canvas bags I'd brought with me, unloaded them into my car's hatchback, and rolled the cart across the parking lot. A moment later, just after I turned the key in the ignition and fiddled with the radio, I heard a knock on the driver's side window. The man I'd bumped into three times was standing there. A fleeting sense of confusion came over me before I thought to lower the window. What did he want? "Did you leave some soda on the bottom of your cart?" Oh, yes! I had forgotten to grab the 12-pack of root beer. I thanked him and he smiled and walked away.
Photo: Markus Spiske
Just before the knock on the window, I'd been thinking about wanting to write something here, and was feeling like I had nothing to say. Suddenly, I wanted to share this small moment with you. I know nothing about this man, he knows nothing of me. But that moment of simple, human interaction somehow brought my day into sharper focus.
I almost didn't write about it; my judging mind telling me it's inconsequential. But these moments we dismiss as insignificant? They shape our days. The neutral and positive ones remind me that humanity can be so very good. And the negative ones, the ones that leave my body on alert or my psyche off-kilter, remind me to trust my instincts and not diminish the ways microaggressions cause real trauma. Tuning into the seemingly insignificant moments is a way of tuning into what we most care about, what we're missing, and what we already have in more abundance than we sometimes take the time to remember.
Rather than limiting your writing because you're afraid what you have to say doesn't matter, what if you gave yourself permission to wander into the uncertainty and to name the moments that make up your days?
Anthony Bourdain wrote of winging it when it came to travel, but he just as easily could've been writing about writing. If you're trying to stick to some highly controlled and crafted approach, think of the "happy accidents" you will likely miss. The more we stop worrying about "being good" and "getting it right," the more likely we are to stumble on something that feels really true and meaningful.
In April, I'll be offering an 11-day online writing group called The Sound of Real Life Happening. If you haven't participated in this practice before, here's what I can tell you: Showing up to write 11 things each day for 11 days is surprising. It's surprisingly fun, easy, hard, funny, boring, painful, ordinary, and wonderful. It's a chance to notice the "little things" and to give voice to the big ones, too. It's a space where you get to come with all of you, knowing you'll be met with kindness instead of judgment or advice.
Wherever today's words find you, thank you for being there on the other side of the screen. It feels good, just knowing we're in this together.