I'm Thankful For My Irregularity
More often than not, we go about our day-to-day business. A subconscious, monotonous routine that only changes at the choice of another. Nod at those we recognize, head down or eyes blankly starring past those we don’t. Look someone in the eye who’s wearing sunglasses. You can’t because they don’t see you. They’re in their world and either you weren’t invited or you don’t belong. You’re not worthy of a glance because it takes too much time and effort away from the comfort of their day-to-day business. And you’re forced to continue about your comfortable, monotonous routine because another made a conscious choice not to change it, fully aware that you are not.
Then one day, you board your flight. Anxious only to get home because that’s the one comfort that hasn’t changed since you left. It’s the one comfort that shouldn’t change. You find your seat and sit down to reflect on how your meeting should have gone, when the woman sitting next to you flirtatiously advises you that it’d be wrong of you to eat your personal pan pizza.
Four months later, you awake pre-dawn to find her ill and in discomfort. Though helpless you feel, you succumb to the reality that her discomfort causes you an inexplicable, emotionally vulnerable pain. You’re bounded by limitations and the fear of tomorrow, but would do anything to take the pain yourself if it meant that she could peacefully fall back asleep in your arms. But you can’t and she doesn’t. And you feel a sense of failure as you wonder how the hell your once comfortable, monotonous routine became a rare, fiery, spontaneous opportunity with a women who is now getting sick in your bathroom.
Before you know it, she’s emerging from the bathroom, smelling only the way a freshly bathed woman can, wearing nothing but a towel and a smile. And for the first time since that flight, you’re cognizant that your comfortable, monotonous, day-to-day routine has been consciously altered by a person with the power and desire to do such a wonderful thing to another. Leaving you intoxicated with humility and void of reservations.
And you’re indebted to the powers that made her so.
Then one day, you board your flight. Anxious only to get home because that’s the one comfort that hasn’t changed since you left. It’s the one comfort that shouldn’t change. You find your seat and sit down to reflect on how your meeting should have gone, when the woman sitting next to you flirtatiously advises you that it’d be wrong of you to eat your personal pan pizza.
Four months later, you awake pre-dawn to find her ill and in discomfort. Though helpless you feel, you succumb to the reality that her discomfort causes you an inexplicable, emotionally vulnerable pain. You’re bounded by limitations and the fear of tomorrow, but would do anything to take the pain yourself if it meant that she could peacefully fall back asleep in your arms. But you can’t and she doesn’t. And you feel a sense of failure as you wonder how the hell your once comfortable, monotonous routine became a rare, fiery, spontaneous opportunity with a women who is now getting sick in your bathroom.
Before you know it, she’s emerging from the bathroom, smelling only the way a freshly bathed woman can, wearing nothing but a towel and a smile. And for the first time since that flight, you’re cognizant that your comfortable, monotonous, day-to-day routine has been consciously altered by a person with the power and desire to do such a wonderful thing to another. Leaving you intoxicated with humility and void of reservations.
And you’re indebted to the powers that made her so.
