I saw a woman on the subway this morning. Her eyebrows were tightly furrowed into a crease of thought: anger, sadness, anxiety; I don’t know. She kept rubbing her forehead, covering her eyes. When she looked up, she’d sigh; a great big, resigned sigh. Her hair was graying, greasy. The fingernails on her hands were yellowed, her hands wrinkled and blotched. I watched her. Not out of disgust. Yes, she was a bit disgusting, but there was something else about her, something that changed her. I wondered if she remembered laughing, smiling, feeling good.
It was clear to me, when the moment came to choose door number one or two, she panicked. She didn’t choose. She waited and said to herself, “the right one will open.”
I am now 10 days away from my 30th birthday, and slightly less afraid. I don’t remember when it happened, the specific day, what I was doing, what made me do what I did that day. But, not too long ago, I made a decision. I didn’t think on it then, but now I realize it is the biggest decision I’ve ever made in my life. It wasn’t a hard decision, but it will be the hardest to live by. But I feel firm in my decision.
I’ve chosen Door Number 2. I just threw it wide open and said, “whatever is there, common and get me!”
I haven’t made any profound changes in my life, per se but I’ve decided every day is my last. Every day is just as important as the next. Smile at a stranger, help someone out, chose to go to sleep contented. Live.
Since then, I’ve booked myself a trip to Egypt. I’ve wanted to go since I was a little girl. Check off on the Bucket List. The feeling I got when I finally got my booking confirmation was like no other. I’m going. I’m really going. And I did it alone.
I wish I could have given that feeling to the woman on the subway. I wondered what she felt when she got up in the morning. Monotony, resolution, emptiness.
The idea that this is it has always scared the hell out of me. This is it, this is all you get, then you’re gone. Poof, gone. No one really realizes that. You get one kick at the can; make it a bloody hard kick. Choose that door, grasp the knob firmly and just fling it open. And then, with your eyes wide open, march right through. Don’t let your Rosebuds follow you to your grave.
There’s a piece of music I listen to often. Listening to it is like laying down flat in the middle of an empty cathedral and listening to the sounds of God rise to Heaven. I’m not religious, so feel free to substitute as you like. It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, closing your eyes and spreading your arms wide. Stand there a few moments, then open your eyes directly out to the landscape below. It feels like your flying. The piece is by Bach; Suite for Solo Cello No. 1 in G minor. I think Bach must have written it when he opened his door. It amazes me how someone like that can translate all those emotions, all those thoughts, into notes on a scale. How, through all the languages in the world, all the beliefs, such emotions can be transcended through one simple, two minute piece of music.
Quite some time ago, I was walking through the subway corridors, head down, rushing with the never ending traffic of people when I heard that sound. My Bach. My beautiful symphony behind Door Number 2. I actually stopped. It was beautiful. The urge to rush disapated as I heard those notes. I walked forward towards an aging woman, fingers furiously racing up and down the satin wood of her cello. Eyes closed, swaying with every stroke of her bow. I just watched her play my music. It was like everything around me was gone as I watched her play. When she finished, she looked up at me, this tiny, East Asian woman. She smiled.
“You like?”
I nodded. I reached into my purse, pulled a twenty out of my wallet; my last twenty until payday. I didn’t care. I tossed it in her cello case among the coins.
“Yes, I like very much.”
I wish that woman on the subway could have heard that music.
It was clear to me, when the moment came to choose door number one or two, she panicked. She didn’t choose. She waited and said to herself, “the right one will open.”
I am now 10 days away from my 30th birthday, and slightly less afraid. I don’t remember when it happened, the specific day, what I was doing, what made me do what I did that day. But, not too long ago, I made a decision. I didn’t think on it then, but now I realize it is the biggest decision I’ve ever made in my life. It wasn’t a hard decision, but it will be the hardest to live by. But I feel firm in my decision.
I’ve chosen Door Number 2. I just threw it wide open and said, “whatever is there, common and get me!”
I haven’t made any profound changes in my life, per se but I’ve decided every day is my last. Every day is just as important as the next. Smile at a stranger, help someone out, chose to go to sleep contented. Live.
Since then, I’ve booked myself a trip to Egypt. I’ve wanted to go since I was a little girl. Check off on the Bucket List. The feeling I got when I finally got my booking confirmation was like no other. I’m going. I’m really going. And I did it alone.
I wish I could have given that feeling to the woman on the subway. I wondered what she felt when she got up in the morning. Monotony, resolution, emptiness.
The idea that this is it has always scared the hell out of me. This is it, this is all you get, then you’re gone. Poof, gone. No one really realizes that. You get one kick at the can; make it a bloody hard kick. Choose that door, grasp the knob firmly and just fling it open. And then, with your eyes wide open, march right through. Don’t let your Rosebuds follow you to your grave.
There’s a piece of music I listen to often. Listening to it is like laying down flat in the middle of an empty cathedral and listening to the sounds of God rise to Heaven. I’m not religious, so feel free to substitute as you like. It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, closing your eyes and spreading your arms wide. Stand there a few moments, then open your eyes directly out to the landscape below. It feels like your flying. The piece is by Bach; Suite for Solo Cello No. 1 in G minor. I think Bach must have written it when he opened his door. It amazes me how someone like that can translate all those emotions, all those thoughts, into notes on a scale. How, through all the languages in the world, all the beliefs, such emotions can be transcended through one simple, two minute piece of music.
Quite some time ago, I was walking through the subway corridors, head down, rushing with the never ending traffic of people when I heard that sound. My Bach. My beautiful symphony behind Door Number 2. I actually stopped. It was beautiful. The urge to rush disapated as I heard those notes. I walked forward towards an aging woman, fingers furiously racing up and down the satin wood of her cello. Eyes closed, swaying with every stroke of her bow. I just watched her play my music. It was like everything around me was gone as I watched her play. When she finished, she looked up at me, this tiny, East Asian woman. She smiled.
“You like?”
I nodded. I reached into my purse, pulled a twenty out of my wallet; my last twenty until payday. I didn’t care. I tossed it in her cello case among the coins.
“Yes, I like very much.”
I wish that woman on the subway could have heard that music.
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