Sidewalks have an assortment of stories to tell - ones that we (will) mostly never hear, but ones that we most easily can, but never see. For often times we are zoomed into our own stories – becoming one amongst the many, on that sidewalk.
On a winter morning last week, I transformed into being a reader (from being a story for most part of my life). I zoomed out of my own head, my own story, to peek into the panoramic world I lived in. I connected; I existed not just with myself, but with the world around me. Much like the dogmatic world, the morning was chilly, kinda foggy. The little brown shoes that walked with me were kissed – kissed by the dew drops. That little index finger was held by a hand ten times its size – power showed a beautiful perspective.
An old man on a wheel chair basked in the sun. Struggling to breathe and stay awake, he was surrounded by two men that stood on each side and a lady who was perched on the ledge behind. She looked tentative, as she reached out to touch his right cheek – as if to check if he was still alive. He was – being brave showed a vulnerable perspective.
A young boy (in his teens), was seated on the white stairway to what looked like an entry to a big store. With him sat a girl, both facing each other. I slowed down to absorb the moment they were sharing, he was professing how he loved her so… love showed how it had a child like perspective.
The zooming out, the panoramic view, led me into a land of stories, with different people living each one of those. None of them had words. I read each of them through expressions and counted most of them in steps – some that were thirty steps long, to some as short as two. They basically ranged from being short – very short. But the distance that I covered with each of those was long ...very long.
And each day I thought I walked ‘only a while’… but there’s so much that happened between that mile.