For three years, I had a job in the city where I am spending my summer internship. In between then and now is only two years, not really all that long. For most of my commute, it’s the same path – only the end is different: the further side of the city exchanged for closer.
Turns out that I leave the house about the same time as I did during those three years. That’s not the type of thing I am apt to remember, but I have had an unexpected clue.
It used to be when I drove along the road that connects my village to the next town over (predictably named after my town), I would observe a couple, exer-walking, both wearing baseball-style caps, both walking the same determined pace, both holding a cup of takeout coffee in left hand (the Dunkin Donuts was at the end of the road about a mile further on).
I came to look forward to passing them, at nearly the same point every time our paths crossed. I admired their consistency. I envied their exercise regime. I thought it was cool that they chose to spend their time together in that way.
In the intervening time, I had forgotten about them.
Until I started driving the same route and encountered…him. Not them. He’s still got the determined gait of a person walking for exercise, not for leisure. He still wears the baseball hat, still carries the DD cup in his hand. But she’s no longer at his side.
Did they break up? Did she get another job that doesn’t allow her to exercise in the morning? (Was it a promotion? A demotion?)
Did she die? Did she get sick? Is it temporary? Or is this one of those forever things?
Does he look sadder? Happier? Steeled against the cold realities of life? Liberated and ready for more?
So many questions, so many possible stories spinning in my mind. I will never know.
May they be safe and protected from inner and outer harm.
May they know happiness and the root of all happiness.
May they have patience with all the arises.
May they be present to all that arises.
May they be peaceful with all that arises.
May they awaken to the light of our true nature.
