Journal Dispatches: August 10, 2021. Do you have time?
I stopped by a coffeeshop off the interstate and grabbed a vintage iced green tea sans sugar and sat on the patio.
Which emails do I respond to? What replenishes my soul and imagination?
A foreign correspondent / friend of mine emails me that she begins each day breathing in positive thoughts about the intent of having a reasonably good day even if it requires walking bare feet on the surface of it. She likes her feet planted and able to feel the texture of the earth. The universe she finds unnerving and awesome. She can’t do anything about it but occasionally looks up at the sky. She knows how small she is in comparison. She’s been losing sleep over recent assignments. The political atmosphere is unsettling. She signs, Breathingly yours.
A jolting email from a former colleague about another colleague we knew – a physically disabled, college educated likeable guy that had been unemployed, except for scattered part-time work for over two decades, I just learned. He was living alone, died this past week. Suicide. He was distraught and one day he could no longer dream or imagine. Poverty is a violent realty that undermines self-confidence, self-worth, and dignity. His dreams and his imagination stopped. How long can poverty of the body and mind last? What can I do to make a difference?
“I’ve seen you before,” a person walking in the store looks over at me.
“Yeah. I notice you seem to smile a lot and always writing something.”
‘Smiling is generally inexpensive. And some of the time I get a smile in return. And writing is a pleasure that keeps me balanced.”
He nods. “I’m writing a book. Any advice?”
“Stay with it, especially when you don’t want to.” I suggest.
“I’ll do that.”
We both smile.
My phone rings. A long-distance call.
“Hello?” I ask
“It’s me. Man, I have a story to tell you. You won’t believe it. Do you have time?’ She asks.