The Crazy Man at Starbucks

Since moving downtown I've learned a couple of things.

Learn the transit,

Drink Starbucks because Tim Hortons is just too Suburban and unhip,

And ignore the crazy people.

When I first moved to Toronto, I couldn't help but notice them. Even more disturbing was the "sane" people who walked passed them, Ignored them, told them to go get a job. "How cruel" I thought. How could people be so cold? How can you just walk past another human being like they were a crumpled up piece of garbage they found lying on the floor.

Fast forward 3 years later.

I have become one of those people. The kind of person who walks by my fellow city dwellers who hang out near the Princess of Whales theatre, or the local grocery stores. I choose not to see them. They annoy me. They should certainly go and get a job.

But for the past couple of months I've taken a new route to work.

I drive my electric bike and stop off at the local Starbucks in the morning for my morning dose of my ethically grown and environmentally friendly cup of Java. "Good for me" I say, as I read the side of the Starbucks cup that proudly announces that just by stopping in and buying a cup, I have helped Starbucks help farmers in several countries. I have contributed to employing more and more farmers around the world. I am doing my job to help others. Am I?

It's a morning ritual for me. Every morning, like clock work, I grab my coffee.

Every morning I also see the crazy man on the patio who chants prayers in a language I don't understand. Every morning, I take a seat on the same patio and read the Metro paper online from my Iphone. And every morning, I get to know the crazy man a little bit more.

He's tanned. His skin tells stories of travel and his eyes have a history so deep that I often want to ask, but I don't.

Who are you?

Where's your family?

Where do you live?

People stare at him and laugh and I find myself getting angry. Because beneath his weathered skin and misunderstood body language, I see a spirit and a man that has a heart.

Yesterday, I sat a little closer to him. He knows me now. I looked up at him today and smiled at him and softly nodded my head.

He nodded back.

He's my crazy Starbucks friend who says nothing to me every morning but in a strange way, almost checks in to see if I'm there.

And now I'm starting to realize, that sometimes people label others crazy, when someone doesn't look like them, talk like them, think like them. We label them unfortunate and underprivileged. Meanwhile, most of us head to a job we hate and go home to a neighborhood where we don't know our neighbors. My Starbucks friend talks to the birds and they seem to talk back. He has a higher level of connectedness with God than most. But he is unfortunate, right?

I watch him as he stretches his arms out towards the sky as if to do some kind of yoga that my undiagnosed ADD would never have patience for.

He seems happy.

He seems at peace.

My Starbucks friend is far more in tune with himself than any sane downtowner I know.

And although we'll never speak the same language,

And we may never sit exactly at the same table.

I understand him, and he understands me,

And you know,

That's not so crazy.

I'm a writer..

I'm a writer.

That's what I've been telling myself and thankfully there is some proof of it on the web and in a local magazine every three months.

I'm a writer.

But the fact of the matter is, lately, I've chosen to take the title without doing the work.

I'm too busy, life is hectic, I just don't have time..

I just don't have time for one of the things that brings me pure joy.

I'm a writer.

I sometimes wonder if I'm the only one that doesn't make as much time as they should to do what God has put me here to do.

The other day, one of my friends, who just so happens to be doing her writing, put a quote on her wall. It affected me so greatly that I actually wanted to ignore it, but I couldn't. Couldn't ignore the blatant message that I needed to hear.

And that quote said

"When I stand before God, at the end of my life, I would hope I could say I don't have a single talent left. I used everything you gave me!" ...thanks for that trey.

I tried to shove it off, pretend it didn't bother me.

But when people ask..

I tell them.

I'm a writer.

So I ask you..

What is it that you are NOT doing in your life that brings you pure joy?

Are you dancing like you should be? Singing? Baking? Knitting?

What is it in your life that you have decided is no longer essential because it's "not realistic" or can't pay your cable bill. And the second question is, what are you replacing it with? Empty fillers? A job that pays the bills but doesn't fill your soul with satisfaction?

I'm afraid, I let life get the better of me. Let excuses take over and allowed myself to become the people I sighed at as they made their way along the sidewalk, scurrying along going nowhere more important than what they really should be doing...their passion.

So,

I'm a writer.

And it's necessary for me to do the one thing that allows me to drift away. The one thing that doesn't put limits on the what I believe. Allows me to tell stories the way I want them to. I am free to make my forever afters, play by my rules. It's the one place where I can be whoever I choose to be, meet whoever I want to meet, dream whatever dreams I choose to dream.

Because,

I am a writer.

And it's time I start writing.

Someone else's STUFF

Today,

I allowed someone to affect me in ways I never thought they would. I allowed someone to spew their "stuff" all over me, and their words dripped down my shoulders and somehow found a way to soak into my spirit.

Today, I allowed someone to dictate how the rest of my day should go.

I walked slower, my shoulders slouched, my eyes got red and I felt an angry cry coming. For me, an angry cry is a dangerous cry. It's not the type of cry where one weeps against a rock by a babbling brook, rather, an angry cry makes staplers whip across a room, and makes old ladies with canes jump out of the way. Today I felt to do that angry cry.

I held it back.

Held it back because I've been told "Never let them see you cry". It's a form of weakness. And although I don't subscribe to that "suck it up" mentality,today, I did.

I came home, lit my over priced Bath and Body works candle, turned on my music and turned off the phone. Sat in it. Felt what I needed to feel without any disruptions.

And I realized, today, that person had to get me mad. This person had to insult my intelligence, had to overwhelm me with their ego..all of this had to happen, so I could remember, that this was all my choice.

Instead of taking the easy road of "poor me", I am choosing to remember that I have a choice to accept this behavior, or turn away from it.

These are also moments that need to be cherished.

Today, I will try and bottle this feeling.

Remember exactly how I felt in that moment.

So the next time I rush someone while they are speaking, choose to always think I'm right, put my "stuff" all over someone without them asking for it, accuse, judge or pretend that someone's opinion doesn't matter. I'll remember how I feel today.

To me, I experienced a small gift that came in the form of a slap. Not a physical slap. No forms of violence at all. But the kind of slap that needs no words, just looks. The kind of slap that doesn't speak, but doesn't allow you to speak either. A message from God that whispered, "My child, you're wasting every moment you have here"...

But the beauty of this day is, that at the end of the day,

I still know who I am,

Where I want to be,

And who I want to surround myself with.

So I set the bath, listened to some Yolanda Adams, closed my eyes and washed away the "stuff".

And I thank God at the end of the day that I have a door that I can close, a bath that I can stretch out in, a computer I can play music on, and the peace of mind that I am greater than someone else's STUFF.