Outside opinions. Prevailing energies. Generation gaps. Awkward rebellions and synergistic home comings.
Tucked secretly in a subway seat speeding through life’s dark tunnels, the guy beside you pulls out a purple onion and a knife.
First slice is messy and pungent. The next comes clean.
He hands it to you innocently: a single disk of concentric circles with artistically imperfect symmetry. Each ring inside the other, thin containers of the connections you two are making, separately together. Train car lurches – a woman stumbles closer, catches sight of the slice in your hand. Not sure if you’re being tedious or generous, you offer it to her a bit too emphatically. She refuses. Who can blame her?
Are you a child or a grown-up? A banker or a grocer? Are you traveling for work or for pleasure? What color are
your eyes? How authentic is your stamp? What matters most is that you in this moment realize, the story is something that you hold. It has layers and options, symbols and trajectories. Every single day, the details keep arriving because You are here.
If he had offered you a peach, would you be happier?
If the woman traded places with you, would you have preferred it? Press up through the center of the slice: a stack of separated circles expands into new dimensions.
Daily we wake and feel our way onto the ride, climb stairs, enter the stream, stake our claim on the scenery.
Choose circles of love, even if they’re poignant.
Choose rings of adventure and passion, even if they’re odd and imperfect. Choose pungency, then add your sweetness. Fill the space you’re in with gifts and choose to be one, too.