July 2008

Being Who You Are, Where You Are

Last week I was sitting at an outdoor café table on Nicollet Mall in Minneapolis, drinking a steamed soy milk and thinking about writing. In my writing, I have noticed that there's always a gap between where it is now and where I want it to be. That’s why I keep working, I suppose. I am hopeful that I’ll one day bridge the gap and be able to relax. But I have the sneaking suspicion that there will always be a gap. And this is too bad, because the gap can be uncomfortable.

I sat there, sipping and thinking about the gap on Nicollet Mall.

Then, a bug crawled out from under the café table. On its back it carried a transparent shed skin, a ghostly mirror image of itself. The old shell was stuck to the bug by the wings, temporarily hobbling the creature’s power of flight. It was sentenced to walk, carrying its former self on its back, until the phantom body fell off by itself. I felt sorry for him. I tried to help by giving the brittle shell a tug. The bug stopped to let me try, but then kept walking. I imagined him shaking his head at my impatience. He seemed okay with where he was at. What a trooper.

This bug is being patient in his gap. He seems to know that yanking or grabbing doesn’t work. It’s be better to be gentle, or you risk tearing your wings.

I am working on being gentle with where I’m at in writing and in life. I am working on relaxing now instead of waiting for there to be no gap. There will always be the gap.

My Buddha bug puts one foot in front of the other and the other and the other. Feelers busy, content with knowing only what is within reach. Cool with carrying his old self around for a bit.

See, this is why I like to leave my desk at home and go write somewhere else sometimes. Because there is always the possibility that I will meet a bug with more good sense than me.

It was time for me to leave but the bug was only halfway across the table. I was worried about him. Some people squish bugs. Maybe the next person to sit down for coffee would not find his noble efforts endearing. So I urged him onto a napkin and gave him a flying carpet ride to a nearby flower bed. When I lowered him onto a leaf he stopped for a moment, got his bearings, then kept on walking.

So will I.

Poem for Nicollet Avenue
On Nicollet Avenue
A lonely man plays a brave trumpet for quarters
A bug proudly carries his old self
And dances to his own tune
On Nicollet Avenue
Pigeons peck at Life cereal
Tossed by someone for whom life is not easy
On Nicollet Avenue