For Want of A Better Something.

I am privileged. My bed is comfortable, cleaning is done once a month by someone else, the laundry is in-house, and the shower is in-house and warm. I’m not suffering any fear of death, only the death that comes inevitably later. I have food, I have a job that will discount the food I order from there, and I get paid, I get stiffed from guests sometimes, but I get incredible pay regardless. You (me) sit, pondering how you don’t have enough, don’t get enough, and yet you’re crying over a takeout meal. Pouting over your almond milk coffee, pouting in a chair when what’s in front of you is remarkable, wishing for what? What exactly? Something more remarkable than this?

More. The basic sins of pride and greed, I thought you had transcended such petty things. Turns out you’re just like the rest of us. Yet when you finally take a moment to realize what is, then… there. Yes, that’s it.

A clear moment. Clear as a blooming afternoon in the middle of May. The breeze whispers to the leaves on the trees asking, gently, “Will it rain today?” The trees whisper in response, “No, not today.” A butterfly could land on your collar at any second on a day like today. Kids ride their bikes to play pirates in the backyard of a neighbor, take your pick. Dogs bark as they ride past, wishing for a chase. Hands are too clammy to hold so someone takes an arm instead and rests a temple on a shoulder. This is an ideal, but whatever it means to have a moment like this, I think it feels like this. Perhaps…

I’ve seen enough to tell me I have more than others and others would kill for what I have. I’ve seen enough of myself to know I take what I have for granted and lapse in gratitude, on a multitude of occasions, for what has been done and who helped me get there. I’ve noticed myself for long enough to realize I’ve been living on an island of one. I just wish to simply walk to the shore take a step into the ocean and backstroke my way to, hopefully, an island full of others. Full of joyful faces and their invitations into their homes. Either that or I’ll die floating on my back facing the Sun and its clouds, or perhaps the moon and its stars. I believe I can be happy either way. Only as long as I begin the swim.