Today, the past few days actually, I’ve been completely obsessed about a haircut that I am scheduled to receive on Wednesday, and according to my analytical nature, almost every waking moment has been devoted to this topic. Blind as a bat (I didn’t have my glasses); I went to run daily errands.
I have to get money from the bank. Should I really go that short? Hand in my roommate’s paper. Could I pull it off? I’m so late! I wonder if the bus is going to be there soon. Am I doing this for myself or for the attention? It’s my sister’s birthday this week, what should I get her? It’s almost silent everywhere I go, I guess this is what spring break looks like in Logan, Utah! I wonder if the bank is open in the TSC over spring break… That’s so short!
Heading back to my apartment, still consumed in selfish thought (I’ll spare you the egotistical details), I smiled at a man (whom I couldn’t see) in the distance; my usual greeting. I slowly realized a few things: he was in a wheelchair, he was about 70, he didn’t have his right leg, and he looked less than well-kept. He said “Why, hello there!” I more-brightly-than-I-felt replied “Hello!” We began talking, first about the bus and when it was supposed to arrive; in ten minutes I might add, almost exactly the amount of time it would take me to briskly walk to my apartment. For some reason that I still cannot explain other than providence, I felt instantly calm and stayed to talk with the man. I usually analyze and reanalyze the situation for safety and time constraints, but my mind was cooled, only to be interrupted with the occasional should I be more worried right now? He inquired where I was from, I gave a vague answer (just in case, you can never be too careful). He told me that he went to Highland High School, that he had played basketball at Highland High School. This took me aback more than it should have; I wondered: You, you played basketball? Where did you see yourself when you were my age? It couldn’t have been in a wheelchair waiting for a bus in the cold without your leg! He was a man, he was a human, not something that only exists to arouse pity and provide opportunities for charity to fully functioning Homo sapiens. As we talked about our parents and grandparents, and as he with child-like innocence and pain mentioned his parents’ death, his humanity was only seared deeper into my judgment.
He told me he liked to make pies, and though I usually would write the comment off as senility, I listened. He told me that he wanted to open a bakery in downtown Salt Lake. “Do you like pecan pie? Banana cream is my specialty! I make the best banana cream pie! You don’t believe me! I believe you (said with wonder and no sarcasm) I love my home town! Have you been to Little America? I love Little America...” I wanted to believe that in the summer months I would find him opening the doors of his beloved bakery, but deep inside, I felt a pang of sadness knowing it most likely would never happen.
He asked me what I was majoring in; I gave the standard “Speech Communications” reply. He asked what I wanted to do with that degree and I told him. Almost like a recent graduate he told me “I majored in Natural Resources up here, but I don’t like doing that outdoors stuff anymore.” He then told me “I’m built for architecture; I’m an artist you know… an artist” (his voice trailed as he potentially reminisced on his previous artistic triumphs.) He jumped back in “I’m planning on going to the U for architecture soon; I’m going to be an architect.” As much as I didn’t want to question this hope, I knew the rigorous program would not intermingle well with his fragile state… and I was forced by social comparison and reason to think otherwise.
He, in his crippled, elderly state still had dreams, had visions of what he wants not wanted his life to look like. He had hope; he had vision; he had humanity. All I could think on the bus ride home was: What am I doing?! I have wasted this whole day thinking and fearing, lost in a chasm of mundane existence! Am I dreaming? Am I fulfilling my dreams or are my youth and infinite opportunities being squandered by fear and a focus on the menial? I have more opportunities and time than I know what to do with… what am I doing? Where is my bakery? Where is my architecture school?
I’m glad I didn’t efficiently powerwalk to my apartment.
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