The catbirds have gone silent. Every morning, lately, a young hawk begins calling as the sun peeks over the horizon. Hunting, I assume, though only the hunted and the hawks really know. She woke me again today, a few moments before my alarm reminded me not to burrow back into the pillow. The day is too full for extended sleep to be an option. And so, the day begins.
Walking in the early morning light the mile or two back from the mechanic where I left the car, I saw a man eating a boxed meal in the portico of an abandoned building. He’s made a home there, his bedding tucked under the roof, shopping car(t) parked next to his sidewalk-driveway. There’s no garbage pick-up, of course, but he’s keeping his very public little home tidy, his trash collected in plastic grocery bags and stacked neatly. He’s chosen an excellent location for his residence. The portico is barely visible from the street, essential for his safety, since the city regularly harasses those who are too public about their unhomed status.
He’s living in one of the neighborhoods that needs healthy revitalization, not gentrification. I suspect, though, that the local government finds gentrification more financially beneficial. Until that changes, another community will lose its personality and culture to cookie-cutter high-rise apartments funded by greedy VCs and politicians.
The neighborhood used to have a common grocery store, not a particularly safe one, unfortunately, but at least it was affordable. That store was torn down to make room for … another apartment building. Now, the primary grocery option is a Whole Foods, a store that reinforces the idea that food deserts are often, very specifically, places where the available food is not affordable. It’s remarkably effective – and completely lacking in human decency – if the goal is to remove financially fragile renters from a neighborhood.
Three blocks beyond ‘portico house’, the neighborhood changes naturally as the landscape changes. That’s where I often spend the day. There are several local coffee shops, plus that national union-busting place (you know the one). Things have begun to change too at my favorite third place. I understand with horrible clarity how very irrelevant it is to desire the status quo. The world does not ask permission to change. People don’t either and isn’t that the worst betrayal? To expect everyone to stay where they are when, in reality, you will always, always be running to catch up.
Children are an excellent example of that. But despite my years of experience being surprised by the various children in my world, I am still continually left stumbling along behind as they roar into their days with apparent fearless abandon. I am (probably not so) secretly constantly on the verge of a gasp with relief and admiration at their audacity.
Where did mine go? I’m absolutely certain that at one point in my life, my dear, so beloved mother was also gasping at my audaciousness. Now, instead of moving fearlessly to new cities where I have no connections, I find myself whining about the lack of black iced tea at my coffee shop. Nothing to fear – they steeped tea just for me since they’ve run out of the already-brewed stuff. And how embarrassingly privileged that is.
Over the weekend, I made a bunch of bracelets. One of my favorites from the Barbie movie is “Humans only have one ending.” There’s something reassuring about knowing that I only have this one life and that it’s on me to continually make a damned effort to do better.
Another favorite, and the one on my wrist today, is a modification of the Barbie scene in which Barbie tells an elderly woman, “You’re beautiful.” And the woman responds, “I know.”
And you are beautiful. I hope you know that.
Much love.
