Red Pea Coats.

When I was twenty-two and backpacking through Europe, I took the train from Stockholm, crossing most of Sweden in an afternoon, to Gothenberg.  Not yet ready to retreat back to my quiet little hotel one evening after I had finished my solo dinner, I wandered through a city square down along the water.  People were milling about, chatting and laughing among themselves.  Despite the fact that I literally could not understand a word anyone was saying, I began to mingle among them, taking in the sounds and the sights, entertaining myself with the people watching.  Dusk was just beginning to fall, the sky turning to muted shades of purple and pink, as they do in early spring as the days grow longer.

To my left, I noticed a young man in a red pea coat.  He was singing - loudly, alone, off-key.  As his song progressed he began to dance, awkwardly, in a sort of semi-circle among the cobblestones. This man certainly was not a professional street performer but he wasn't a total crazy either.  (By crazy, I'm talking in the sense of city crazy where your defenses go up and you guard your safety and nearby belongings with a bit more vengeance, giving the person acting out a wide berth.)  He was, as far as I could tell from my vantage point of about about twenty feet away, a simple-minded man who was determined to give his audience a stellar performance.  One that HE thought was outstanding, perfect, fit for an audience.

I can still see myself so clearly in that square watching that young man, as if my trip had occurred yesterday.  I stood there, watching him, amused.  He really did not care what anyone thought of him or recognize that he might be making a fool of himself.  He wanted to sing, damn it, and he was going to sing.

As I stood there pondering all of this, another young man rode past the red pea coat man on a bike. He yelled something as he approached the man and then spit directly on red pea coat man as he road past.  My red pea coat man, who didn't give a hoot about anyone, stopped mid-song.  He wiped his face off and then he started crying.

It broke my heart to watch.  It still breaks my heart to picture the way his face crumbled with this random act of bullying.

Unfortunately, I have seen several cruel gestures and acts in the years before and since that early evening in Sweden.  We all have, I know.  The darkness and anger and cruelty is around us every day and would destroy us if we let it, if we gave in and let that hate swallow us whole.

******

Earlier this week I started another year of volunteering at the local elementary school near my office, the one where I visit a child once a week and read to them in the school's library while they are eating their lunch.  As I went to sleep the night before our first meeting, I ran through a mental list of all the things I needed to get done at work that next day and thought on several occasions how I didn't really have time to go meet this new kid, how I should just cancel my reading sessions for the year.

And then I got a grip.

Of course you have time, Kelli.  I told myself.  Because you make time for the things that matter.  And this is a thing that matters.

I wonder sometimes, why we all seem to be predisposed to opt for the easy way out of things.  It is always easier to skip the gym or avoid the yoga class.  It's an uncomplicated decision to choose the comfortable path, to avoid the push or leap into the great unknown or the walk into the darkness.

And yet, once we are there, standing the dark, I tend to think that is always where we all thrive the most, where we shine the brightest.

******     

This week I finished one of the most beautiful books I have ever read, Cheryl Strayed's Tiny Beautiful Things.  There were a million different lines I loved, a thousand various moments that gave me pause, my heart catching in my throat as I read.  This is one of my favorite parts though -- lines I have already returned to again and again, as I know I will for years to come.  As I read them one morning on the T on my way into work, I thought, once again, of that red pea coated man.  I hope he's still out there, somewhere, singing at the very top of his lungs.

"You will never have my permission to close yourself off to love and give up.  Never.  You must do everything you can to get what you want and need, to find "that type of love."  It's there for you.  I know it's arrogant of me to say so, because what the hell do I know about looking like a monster or a beast?  Not a thing. But I do know that we are here, all of us - beasts and monsters and beauties and wallflowers alike - to do the best we can.  And every last one of us can do better than give up."