Walked into a room filled with stars thanks to a friend’s disco ball. Took a moment to play with the sun-stars in the living room while listening to music before catching a subway and a train. Looked up to a ceiling of year-round stars thanks to Grand Central and people with big vision & nature love.
I love stars in the daytime.
In the coffee line at Grand Central, a man behind me ordered mint tea then changed, with gratitude, to a cinnamon tea. He was a kindness turbine. The man behind the counter asked him where he was from:
Man: Dominican Republic.
Man: I thought you were Indian.
Man: It’s all the same thing. We’re all from the same place.
Man: (laughing) Maybe.
Kind people tend to be kind, because they know its value and the value of time. They work consciously and with intentionality to create kindness for others, such that getting tea becomes something much greater than getting tea, for everyone in the room.
I hoped he enjoyed his tea, and he wished me a good weekend, and I wished him a good weekend, too. There is friendship to be found with one another, all the time, with people you won’t encounter again except through one another’s humanity.
Young people exploded like a comet into the train car.
I moved to another car — far, far away and sat in a backwards-facing blue seat still facing the river on a quiet car.
Soon, another explosion of young people rocketed in and it was: erfect ; ) the way life actually is.
Now a mom & a little boy join me in the seat, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I look out the westerly window, and I find that there are things to notice looking backwards.
Tonight I’ll talk to my honey Marisa on the phone who has been care-giving for her mom for a few months, connection undeterred and always sparkling amidst a challenging time and dotted with planned visits to see each other. Marisa always finds something to smile about, like I’ve seen again and again in both her parents, her mom deriving joy in sunlight, her dad in the late afternoon & evenings. I’ll tell her about my day which is now still unfolding. Last night she read me a passage from a book about how a memorial service, like I’m heading to now for a friend, can be a helpful thing despite the sorrow, and I’m grateful.
The mom & little boy hop off the train now, the little boy putting on cozy, dazzling blue gloves. They’re Prussian blue, I realize, a paint color that a very dear and kind man mentions in a beautiful song.
Written on the Metro-North Railroad Hudson Line train, January 28, 2023.