I want to remember what it is like to spend so much time cutting up dinner for the kids that my dinner is cold, lukewarm at best, by the time I sit down to eat. I want to remember the embarrassing public tantrums and the judging eyes from strangers.
Just recently -- 48 years later -- I bought myself a brand new bike. And you know what? I sing on this bike. I let my voice rise in wonder and love. My heart cries from my throat with joy and laughter, with awe and gratitude. I let it rip and roar as I pedal and explore this city that I call home.
Instead of making hasty and inconclusive judgments about the nature of our experience, wouldn't it benefit us to suspend judgments until we have measured and analyzed the underlying nature of the phenomena before us?
I've learned that the less I think my thoughts define who I am, the more I expand into the truth of my being. As I unstick me from my thoughts -- which is sometimes tender-painful, like peeling bare thighs off a hot seat in summer -- then the mean-girl stuff just floats away.
On a more serious note, to the dad from New Jersey smoking a cigar while pushing your daughter in a stroller: Will you be my muse? You pushed me to the next level. After I judged your behavior, I was in the zone. Nobody and nothing was getting passed me.
Snap judgments are a form of positional thinking -- right/wrong, good/bad, desirable/undesirable. Energetically, each time we make one of these judgments, we are either accepting or rejecting someone or something.
Why is she so thin? She must be devastated over her marriage. Is she on drugs? Everyone seems to have a question or comment when someone famous is going through a rough patch. It is so easy to assume or come to a conclusion on what the story is.
Young children come at the world without preconceived notions of "how things should be." They haven't bought into limited ideas of beauty or appropriate conversation. They don't censor their thoughts to fit in.
A few months on the urban battlefield has turned me impatient. It must have to do something with the cacophonous volley of car horns smattered with profanity, or the time I saw one guy kick another in the chest at Two Bros. Pizza.