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The Mini-mart Clerk and the Meaning of
Life
by Hildy
Gottlieb
Copyright ReSolve, Inc. 2000 ©
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Dawn. I am sitting on my
bed with the Sunday New York Times and my first cup of coffee. The light is
different, or maybe it's something else - but suddenly this room where I sleep
every night and read the paper every morning looks new.
"What if," I ask myself, "What if I
always saw this room with fresh eyes, as if life were always a vacation and
this were a new place every moment of every day..."
Then I look back at the newspaper. Every week I look forward to
Sunday morning, just for reading the Times. And yet I forget what a treat it is
that someone brings it right to me. On vacation, that simple act of delivery
would be enough to have me regaling friends at home with accolades, "And they
even brought the Sunday Times right to my door!"
| Every
week I look forward to Sunday morning, just for reading the Times.
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Photos by Hildy Gottlieb Copyright
2000 © |
Same thing with my coffee - dark and sweet, just the way I like it
- and yet it doesn't get a whit of notice. We get so used to getting the things
we want, the way we want them. What if I noticed every time I had my coffee
dark and sweet and was glad about it?
The world becomes alive as I think
about every little piece of it. The cat shamelessly flopping onto the page as I
try to write, purring and rubbing against my writing hand, begging to be
stroked. Instead of moving her away, can I notice how lucky I am that she wants
to be with me more than anyone else in the world?
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Photos by Hildy Gottlieb Copyright
2000 © |
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| Can I notice that she
wants to be with me more than anyone else in the world? |
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Look: There are stacks of books
next to my bed. At someone else's house, I would note every room that housed
books, reminding myself to be sure to return to that room when I was alone, to
browse the spines and flip through the pages, as if sneaking off to see a
lover. But here, I live in a room with probably 50 titles that I chose one by
one, each one jumping into my arms like a kitten at a pet store. And still it
is only every rare once in a while, when I come upon one of them by chance,
that I remember that each of them is enchanted. Books, Hildy - do you see all
those books?!
I
want to see that enchantment in everything, all the time. The world, fresh and
new, with a beginner's eyes, and yet still have it be my neighborhood, my
house, my room. Instead, most days it takes something big to slap me into
seeing.
Look here:
When it rains in my neighborhood, the mountains are reflected in the big puddle
at the corner. I stop every time I see it, because every time it IS the first
time. Look, I say to whoever is in the car with me - look, there is a whole
mountain range in that puddle! And I wonder how someone can fail to see a whole
mountain range.
Photos by
Hildy Gottlieb |
| I
wonder how someone can fail to see a whole mountain range. |
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Copyright
2000 © |
If the world were really new and I was really on vacation
someplace else, I would talk with the kid at the Mini-mart when I stopped to
get gas. We would chat and smile and he would tell me all kinds of things I
never knew about living around here and I might even buy a lottery ticket. I
would remember him in my journal. He would never be just the grumbly kid at the
Mini-mart.
And so
today I am vowing to see the world around me with new eyes. To see that the
sunrise here in my backyard is as magnificent as the sunrise somewhere else.
That the hand-knit throws and Mexican blankets on my bed are just as quaint as
those at a country inn, that the cat is just as quirky, the dog as sweet, and
the neighbors as charming. That the flowers in my garden bring wildlife to my
door, just as they would in some exotic locale.
And that the kid at the Mini-mart
may have a story or two, if I'd only ask.
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