Hyperbole and Bologna

I exaggerate.

Sometimes.

We all do.

However, I tend to exaggerate things in my life that are only microscopic flutterings in comparison to true tragedy. Since I don't have the ideal this-or-that, I don't have such-and-such, or look like so-and-so-, I bemoan, "my life is such a disappointment!" Is it? And then I wail with my head in my hands, "I thought I would be somewhere by now, and I'm not! I am a failure!" Am I?

Vanity is such a visceral entity within my heart. A sickness that feeds into the empty side of my soul- one that I am trying to fill with humility, contentedness, and in short- God.

Every morning when I drive to work, I hit the light that intersects between 12th South and 8th Ave. And every morning there is a gentlemen that I see walking to the bus stop. He is usually dressed in a flimsy gray t-shirt and jeans, unless it is bitterly rainy or cold, then he will have his black rain jacket on. He always wears thick glasses, ones that look as if they are going to slip right off his face and bulky white shoes. He walks with a severe limp, which is met by his twisted face and limp right arm. He literally drags himself across 8th Ave in a choppy meter of topple and twist.

He is extremely punctual. I can actually time myself by where he is at on the sidewalk. On days that I am running late, I see him flushed and fatigued, waiting on the bus stop bench. When I am running early I can see him two blocks away from the 12th and 8th light.

I have no idea how long he walks to get to the bus. I don't know if he just travels the stretch of street that I can see , or if he comes from a much further place. I don't know if something happened to him or if he was born with such physical disabilities. I don't know what is so imperative that he drags himself to that bus stop every day, but he is determined, strong, and an unlikely hero.

I imagine that he has a job that he takes pride in, one that others take for granted or consider undesirable. I imagine that people stare at him, make fun of him, or even worse look the other way. Yet he decides to walk the miles. I imagine that he has had to overcome a lot more in his life than a deflated dream, a waning bottom line or a broken heart. He lives his life in brokenness. He lives his life in a state of distortion. Yet, he may be more whole than I am.

There are days that I drag myself out of bed, hungover by life's letdowns and my own slip-ups, but there is no reason I should ever exaggerate my problems. That's just hyperbole bologna, a crock pot of crap that says nothing of the true gifts I have in my life.

Watching this man, for just a few seconds every day, calls me to conviction. I don't pity this man, I am inspired by him. I smile at him when I think he may see me, but I don't think he does. I don't know if he has a family that tells him how special he is. I don't know if he knows how his morning walk is a testament to all of the 9-5ers, one of which (me), is compelled to applaud his arduous journey.

I have an easy road. My morning commute is just a microcosm in the gridlock of my journey but if I can't find the simple pleasure in being on the path that I am, I will be forever paralyzed.

I can not imagine who I would be if I was faced with some real challenges. I know I would be ugly. I know I would just give up and stay in bed. There is no way my pride would allow me to step one foot out the door, let alone travel a long road in pain and ridicule.

If there is a place for exaggeration, it should be how blessed I am. I am not saying that if we aren't physically marred, or mentally disabled that we can't hurt. Of course we all hurt, life is sometimes unjust, sick, and evil.

But if its just the simple grate of monotony that skins our hope raw, maybe we should try a different approach. Maybe we should embrace another "one of those days". Some people, like my 8th avenue angel, would give anything to have one normal moment. Take just one step that wasn't riddled with stinging pain or burdened by a humiliating hobble. Live just one day not perceived as different. Feel just one second of acceptance instead of the daily ostracism.

Here I am trying to stand out, when some people's only wish may be to fit in.

While I am fully able physically, there are days (more than I would like to admit) where I am crippled by laziness, envy, anger, self-interest and pride.

And in all honesty, my 8th avenue angel and I are more the same than different.

We are just a couple of cripples.

Art Courtesy of David Band