Moment of Being

Like many people, I have my routine. Every morning I cross the street, which isn’t really a street. It’s the tracks for the rapid-transit train. The café is my refueling station. It was mid-November and I was on day three at a new job. I ordered my drink and stood at the counter waiting for my mocha. And I watched. I watched all the people around me. So many of them were faceless—even the ones who in pictures would be considered beautiful. A busy café full of people, some with outwardly attractive appearances, and yet few had faces. They all looked the same: the men and women, tall and short, fat and skinny, attractive and ugly, young and old. There really was no differentiation between them. They were all shells. They were closed tight. No one smiled. No animation. No one was alive. The few people who actually had faces were the ones who smiled. They were the ones who interacted with the people around them. They were the ones who touched someone else. They were the beautiful ones.

After I got my drink, I walked outside where there were maintenance workers trimming trees, construction workers working on our building’s seismic retrofit, and I watched the train zip by, and as it did so, it created a breeze that was just strong enough to breathe life into a flock of dried leaves, enabling them to flutter about, dancing and swirling. I smiled. God , it’d been a long time since I noticed the leaves dance.