A bit of a self portrait I write today on the train home from work
Tens, perhaps hundreds of suits and dresses hurried around him, nothing but an irritation... an inconvenience which cost each commuter a few seconds of their precious, worthless time.
The man continued his commute at his own leisure, inhaling the familiar sights and sounds and brilliant smells of his short walk.
There was no urgency in the officer's step but he walked with every ounce of authority afforded him by the nature of his work and with every ounce of peace afforded him by his faith.
He paid no mind to the anger of the crowds around him. their anger was their choice. Nothing was so important to him that it kept him from enjoying the world around him. He strived to be a man of peace in an anxious world.
Yet his was a mind riddled with tomorrow's problems and yesterday's mistakes, just like everyone around him.
The man continued his commute at his own leisure, inhaling the familiar sights and sounds and brilliant smells of his short walk.
There was no urgency in the officer's step but he walked with every ounce of authority afforded him by the nature of his work and with every ounce of peace afforded him by his faith.
He paid no mind to the anger of the crowds around him. their anger was their choice. Nothing was so important to him that it kept him from enjoying the world around him. He strived to be a man of peace in an anxious world.
Yet his was a mind riddled with tomorrow's problems and yesterday's mistakes, just like everyone around him.