If Wishes Were Fishes

As my girl and I each got ready for our respective days, I told her that if wishes were fishes I would have a boatload of carcasses.  And so it goes for me.  I applied for a job that I am trying not to hope for because that is the kiss of death for any wish.  An investment of expected returns can bring suffering in its wake.

So how does one let it go yet feel deeply inside that you are skipping rope at the thought of stepping into your new job on your first day?  How does one hope and yet not attach?  The human dilemma.  I ask for guidance and a man at the gym tells me a story with a lilt in his voice born of struggle and acceptance.  I have seen this man on many, many mornings over the past nine months running on the treadmill or working with weights. He has a prosthetic leg and foot and yet he is as ripped as the twenty somethings who groan and punctuate the air with heavy weights dropped on the floor. This man has a way of smiling at you that is genuine and fun loving.  He has a brilliance to him that seems real and tangible in that strange environment of the weight floor.

Today, he told me a story and it brought light to my angst today because he shared something deep and real and loving with me.  He spoke of his wife who has stood with him through a dozen surgeries before his leg was removed and many dark times where he did not know what was coming.  None of us really do but we think we can edge our way around the holes in the sidewalk with our distractions. This man knows all too well that a cramp in your leg can end everything you thought you could control. 

A story, again told to me by a stranger because I stopped to listen and I stopped to be right there, right then for my comrade in arms.  I wish tonight that the world would turn and look to the person next to them at the grocery store, at the coffee shop, at the pool or at the gym and open and listen for a few moments to a stranger who might just make your day.   

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