Every Errand Is a March

10 minutes, light edit, from a prompt: enter the door

Living alone, and working at home, I don’t get to see or interact with many people, eye to eye. Almost everything I have to say - and these days that’s a flood of analysis, commentary, synthesis about “WTF Is Going On” - everything is bottled up, or expressed through pixels and pen, or when it’s too much, it becomes a rant at the air, startling the cat (my only audience it seems).

So whenever I get a chance to interact, I want to say it all, be heard, feel the resonance with another being who, ideally, feels the same way. My errands, for groceries or cigarettes or a sandwich at the deli, become opportunities to make contact. I enter the door, and do my business sprinkled with the small-talk that’s a little spicier than usual, a little more intentional.

“How are you today?” (I really want to know.)

or

“I’m doing well, thanks for asking, in spite of the coup in progress.”

I receive a nod, a sudden look of recognition, or a blank stare, along with my change. Whatever the response, I bring my whole, joyful, hopeful self, come what may. Because these are my neighbors, I enter the door as if I belong there, as if they belong there, as if we both know this and can work with it, come what may. No, I don’t say it all, or insist on agreement, but I do say something - and I hope whoever is with me can see me whole, can see what we share, can see that joy is always an option.