Somewhere, someone is sitting in a coffee shop, just like I am right now.
They are sitting at their table, with notebook open (or tablet, or laptop), with scribbled notes, or deleted lines in their cache. They are looking for words to fill a future space. Having been tasked with a topic and time, they are on a deadline. With both too much and too little to say, they don’t really know what to write next.
Looking up from their table, they see former UFC heavyweight champion Cain Velasquez ordering a breakfast burrito from the counter, trying to not attract attention to himself (okay, maybe that’s just me).
Somewhere, someone is trying to find the intrinsic motivation to reflect about living kindness. It’s not coming out as easily as it should, though.
Guilt is creeping in. Why should either of us have to talk about something that neither of us are experts at? We are the blind squirrels that occasionally find the nut. We are the horseshoes and hand grenades. We are not the zen gurus who can contemplate how our ascension to the etherial realms of the transcendent plain can assist those still hiring sherpas and packing their mules.
And yet, here we both sit. Strangling the philosophers and theologians, comedians and film directors, politicians and dentists, saints and sinners all, looking for inspiration on kindness.
I don’t know about the someone somewhere, but my tooth is still throbbing from the newly placed crown that the gluten-free body of Christ forced to me to take on after last Sunday. Let the party of pity commence while I lash my tongue around the foreign object in my pie-hole for a few moments, whilst I try to refocus on the task at hand.
I wonder if someone, somewhere is as terrible of an activist as I am. I wonder if they know how to better respond to the conflicts of injustice in our world, and the abuse of the power by the powerful than I am. I feel like come across like a lefty-commie-pundit, imprisoned within the binary of false tropes and half news. I wonder if someone, somewhere thinks someone like me is better at something that they feel like they fail at when they try to communicate.
Now we both sit in our coffins of doubt, with content and anecdotes piled upon our more and more useless corporeal bodies. Is this a “spray and pray” Sunday? Do I just throw everything up and out (every quote, every kitschy insta-pinterst inspirational image, every bible verse that reads beautifully in a vacuum, every Kid President video i can find) and hope that the spirit of inspiration makes something stick to the wall? Should I just show ten minutes of the movie “Pay it Forward”, and tack on some rhyming platitudes that some folks might remember?
Oh, and now let’s write a post confessing all of this AND further muddying the productivity. Great.
Someone, somewhere, is real trouble. Just like every other time we do this.
But we know this is the process.
This is how we create. We struggle, we doubt, we wrestle, we relent.
Then the truth steps in and bears a light.
Sunday is coming, and it’s going to be alright.
Because, it’s never really about me, or the someone, somewhere.
It’s about the universal realities that we each carry deep within us. I just a little trowel the Divine uses to turn up the soil in the garden.
You gonna rise up outta that soil, homegirl. You gonna rise.