Seen from the Bus in Brooklyn— A Smile

As the bus came to a stop at the light, I glanced over and out the right side window just as a young boy, a few feet away on the sidewalk, came into view. Perhaps 7, 8, or 9, he looked to be of Asian descent and was in motion, beaming — like he was joy incarnate— and carrying what looked to be a paper airplane. He dodged and laughed as he was chased by an older, taller boy who looked to me to be 11 or 12, also of Asian descent, but definitely not laughing. In possession of his own paper airplane, the older boy attempted to launch it at the younger. But falling short of its target before succumbing to gravity, its only noticeable impact was to cause the younger boy to laugh with even more glee and launch his airplane in retaliation. His, too, fell short of the intended destination. Then my bus continued on and both boys moved out of frame, and I resumed the rest of my journey accompanied by the memory of his smile.

Slowing Down to Continue Together— Boy on the Sidewalk in Brooklyn

Standing at the bus stop, appreciating the invigorating wind shower even as the pewter gray clouds held promises of more rain, across the street, I noticed as a group of four exited their home— recognizing one as a member of the family whose Thai takeout place I sometimes patronized. 

The adult in the party and the two youngest ones were towards the front. Of that trio, one was a girl who looked to be around 12 years of age, and the other was a smiling boy who looked around 7 or 8. Bringing up the rear, several paces behind, was a tall girl— the one I had recognized as attending to me a few times in the restaurant. She struck me as being around 15 or so.

I saw when the young boy noticed the older girl was farther behind. And then, interspersed through a series of backward glances, as though testing the waters, I watched him initiate a few lines of conversation, before finally committing to the decision to slow down so he could walk with her.  

His actions struck me— said something to me about the boy and about his relationship with the girl. As did the companionable way in which they continued the rest of the journey together. His actions made me think of trust and caring and love and what it meant as a child in a grouping of people to make the decision to walk alongside the person you wanted to spend more time with. 

And then, his actions made me think of what it felt like to be welcomed.

Two Seen on a Sidewalk in Brooklyn— Man and Little Girl

Carrying my grocery bags, I made my way up the street about two blocks from where I lived. The sun had set since I’d left work two hours ago. And now, two trains, a visit to the grocery store, and one bus later, I would soon be home.  Up ahead, a man and a young girl exited a restaurant. 

They were both dressed for the brisk Fall weather ushered in by the torrential rains from the night before. He had on a sturdy looking jacket above his jeans and was wearing what appeared from the back to be a baseball hat. She had on tights under a purple sweatshirt and a few steps into their journey, drew up its hood.

They felt like father and daughter. Or, more specifically like a Daddy and his little girl on their way home after having dinner. Initially, they held hands, but in the wake of the hood settling down on her head, they’d come to a mutual agreement that resulted in him carrying her while she looped her left arm around his neck.

As they walked, I could hear them speaking softly while they took in their surroundings. When they stopped in front of a specialty hardware store, he pointed out some things, she stayed engaged, and then they moved on. 

Our paths ended up diverging when they crossed to the other side of the street.  But as I watched their continued close, easy interaction, I found myself thinking of my younger brother and my niece— his bright, funny, wonderful, six year old daughter. I could see my brother carrying my niece and connecting with her in the same way. And that was a lovely thought to carry me the rest of the way home.

A Quote. Thoughts. (Cheering. You. On)

“You make the best choices you can and let the rest flow.”— Diego Sanchez, High School Senior, character in the book: The Universal Laws of Marco by Carmen Rodrigues. 

I would add revisiting, from where you are now, the whys of those choices made, for the purposes of clarity, growth and healing.

Also wanted to take a moment to wish you good luck with the rest of your today.  And all of the tomorrows. Cheering. You. On.

Self Reflection

I consider myself to be a private person, who sometimes, in certain situations, in certain company, gives into the, sometimes inexplicable, pull to share. But because I primarily see myself as a private person, when someone starts to ask me questions— seemingly harmless enough questions, but questions asked or asked in a manner/ with an energy that for some reason triggers raising up the drawbridge — my first instinct is, “Why are you all up in this?” But I’ve been observing. And in observing, realizing that, in some cases, the other person is expressing a genuine interest and what I might share might actually be helpful to them in some way either now or in the long run. Might 😉 So, I feel it out.  And I keep an eye on the drawbridge. And I keep observing.

Thoughts As I Navigate the Plot Twist (Cheering. You. On.)

I’m breathing and flowing within the plot twists, and working to employ the tools that’ll best help me navigate— the tools that contribute towards me feeling like, in the midst of the unexpected, I’m playing my part to take conscious care of myself. And I’m wishing the same for you. Good luck with the rest of your day. Cheering. You. On.

Thoughts on A form of Regret (Cheering. You. On.)

It’s easy to beat up on yourself for not responding in the “perfect” way to something someone said or actions someone took that left you too shocked to articulate a response — let alone your best response— in the moment. 

You find yourself revisiting the event, carrying that shock at what was done, in addition to carrying around that feeling of l-wish-I-had-thought-to_______.

But the truth is you did what you were able to do in the moment. You did. And now that you’ve spent some time revisiting the moment from your now perspective, know that just because you’d do things differently if you could go back in time, again, doesn’t negate that you did what you were able to do back then. The fact that you can see a different choice now just points to learning.

And, hopefully, to you, that learning feels like growth. And if it does, if you can claim it/ see it as growth, then revisit that feeling of growth every time you’re tempted to revisit the past with, l-wish-I-had-thought-to_______.  Cheering. You. On.

The Soundtrack Of Play

I was crossing the street when I first noticed the sound. It was coming from a few feet behind me.

I was on a street full of people, but this vocal, non-distinctive (thereby making it all the more distinctive), carefree, non-sensical sound brought to my mind the image of a child wrapped up in play. It caught my attention because it was different from the sounds of traffic all around me. But then it held my attention because I didn’t hear an adult companion chiming in with hushing sounds, or attempts to engage in conversation.  

The sound followed me down the stairs, into the subway station and continued as I made my way to the subway platform. Then, as the train pulled in, I turned around and found it was coming from a child— a bright eyed boy of around 5 or 6 with the warm dark brown skin often associated with people of South Asian descent. He was dressed casually in jeans and a green hoodie— the latter made even more distinctive because the hood was in the style of a frog’s head with cartoon-like eyes sitting on the top. It was adorable. He was adorable.  And he had a male guardian with him. 

When the train doors opened up, we boarded the same car—the young one quickly scrambling onto a vacant seat, his guardian crossing over to stand quietly in front of him.  Settling more comfortably into the seat, the boy continued his soundtrack of play, while the guardian pulled out his phone and began scrolling through.

When another passenger got up, freeing the seat next to him, the boy, enthusiastically patted the seat, calling out to his guardian, “Daddy! Daddy!”

So, as the train pulled into my stop, the man called, Daddy, put away his phone before slowly sitting down. And as I exited the car, I heard the bright light of a boy once again resume his carefree soundtrack of play.