Knobby Knees and a Summer Breeze

Tonight I made yet another agonizing trip to the grocery store. I say agonizing because as I mentioned earlier, there is nothing fun about lugging 10 pounds worth of groceries a quarter of a mile back to the dorm. But this entry is supposed to be uplifting, so I'm going to jump back over to that track.

Usually I feel inspired to write about my encounters with the rich and famous or my experiences at work, but tonight it was the simplest thing that spurred me to write a few words.

So I'll begin by going in reverse...back to me lugging the grocery bags. So here I was, walking through the 116th and Broadway entrance to the Columbia campus, when I walked up behind the tiniest old man I had ever seen. If it had been any other day, I might not have noticed him, but the shape of his body left me puzzled at how he could even manage the slow pace he kept.

His spindly legs were connected by knobby knees and his hunched-over upper body looked like a potato balancing on a couple of toothpicks. As I said before, I had no idea how this man even managed to walk, but I was so moved by his effort and by the serene consistency of his meandering pace, that I put the "I'm in New York, and I have to be in a hurry because that's what we do here," routine on hold and took a couple of minutes to walk behind this tiny old man.

I know, sounds creepy, and for those of you know how much I love old people, you're probably not surprised, but there was something about his calm, patient manner that made me want to slow down for a bit and BREATHE.

As I crept along at a snail's pace behind this tiny old man, I listened as he whistled a tune I hadn't heard before. I imagined it was something he used to listen to from a large radio as he sat and read the paper after dinner. I noticed he had a gold wedding band, and I thought, “Maybe that's the song he and his wife danced to on lazy summer evenings, the way they do in the movies.”

All of this imagining may sound crazy to you, but while following the gray haired meanderer, I realized how far I have gotten from the "Life is meant to be lived" way of thinking I developed in Spain. As much as I love America, I feel like sometimes we forget to find joy in life's simple pleasures, like long slow walks in the evenings or the tingling feeling you skin gets when grazed by a cool summer breeze.

So, that's all for tonight. I've stepped off my soapbox and slid it under my bed. I hope by writing this, I gave you the opportunity to take at least 5 minutes to breathe deeply and smile at the thought of a little old man walking, whistling, and bathing himself in the joy of life’s simplicities.

Until next time...buenas noches!