Yesterday, I had a little heartbreak, work-related and not much in the big scheme of dreams and things, but enough, when compounded with sleep deprivation, to turn me into a wobbly mess for the day and into the evening. Just like nature abhors a vacuum, life can’t stand for a lack of perspective, so today begins with first an early morning drive to talk about the Westside Yoga on KLWN (thanks, Kim Murphree!), when just about every stoplight on Iowa St. stops me.
Waiting at one, I look north, and remember that a few days ago, a motorcyclist died within the next block, and sure enough, to the right, I see a small wooden cross decorated with some flowers and an American flag to commemorate the young man. Stoplight bad luck and yesterday’s heartbreak may be in my rear-view mirror, but the view ahead is true heartbreak, the kind that will fill front windshields and rear-view mirrors for years to come.
A few hours later, pushing my cart through Checkers, I find one of my friends riding a motorized shopping cart. She suffers from a devastating combination of health issues, as does her husband, and lately they’ve both been in constant pain. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t do it anymore,” she says, then tells me how grateful she is to have a new doctor who will get her orthopedic shoes and physical therapy. She smiles and goes on. She’s the bravest woman I know.
Back home, I look at the big horizon to the southwest where the cold front — due to arrive tonight — will come, changing everything about this air we breathe. I look down the hall from the kitchen to the bedroom, the places I live and land. And I give thanks for what I can see up close and in the expanse all around.