'love is blindness'

They say some situations are like “the blind leading the blind” as if that were a bad thing. I think we’re all blind and scrambling the world hand-in-hand with each other.

There is a man who is always outside of my building helping people park. He’ll point to the “No Parking” sign and read the fine print that reveals that the spot is valid for that time, “Here’s your proof of the truth” he says.

Today, he was walking the same way as Pickle & me. “Hey babycakes,” he says to Pickle. He always greets her like that. He also always tells me that I’m doing a good job raising my puppy and that she’s such a sweet dog. When we go out for our late-night walks, he says, “Honey, what are you doing out so late? You be careful.” I don’t even know his name, but he cares for us.

“Love ‘em” he said today, “If you show love to people, they’ll love you back. I love everyone in this city.”

“You know everyone in this city!” I said as he greeted the row of usual homeless folks on First.

“This is true, and I love them. These people here,” he pointed to the men and women sitting dirty against the buildings, “are the most protective people in Seattle; they look out for each other.”

I didn’t believe him, but on the walk back, I felt like I had my ‘in’. They all greeted Pickle and said she was a sweet dog. They didn’t ask for a penny or make rude comments or gestures. Just hello. For one of the first times since moving downtown, I felt a sense that this was how the world was supposed to be.

I’m not neglecting the fact that these people were homeless. That may sound crude, but hear me out.

At the dog park, a man with a dog named “Legacy” told me about his love for his dog and his life—a life without a home. “I chose this life. Some people pity me, but that’s fine for them.  I don’t care what they think. I love my dog, and I’m not going to do anything that puts him in jeopardy. We come to the dog park everyday, and some people don’t like me because of the way I live, but you know what? I chose this. I’ll help people—watch their dogs, brush out their dogs undercoat—and they’ll give me a few bucks; sometimes they’re really generous, giving me prepaid VISAs or buying me a meal. I don’t need to own anything. I just need my best friend.”

Don’t think me naïve. I know there are people out there who instead of helping you park, will steal your dollars, and there are people who are homeless just to haggle you, and there is a man who always stands at 4^th and Pine with a sign that says “I need me a fat bitch.” They’re out there, and they’re scary, and they’re sneaky, but I think it’s important to find the people in this city who do care for others and aren’t trying to cheat you and will protect you.

One morning, Pickle I were down at the waterfront park watching the yellows deepen the city into morning with a blissful calm. Suddenly, shattered glass and spray—a man had slammed a bottle of Jack Daniels in the sidewalk only a foot from me and my dog. Pickle started and ran to my feet. I stood in shock and bent to check her paws for glass. The man stood cussing at the air. A different man walked by and asked if we were okay. We were fine. We were more than fine because even in the unreasonable chaos of the city, a stranger bothered to make sure we were alright.

This is the city: people come and go, but you mostly see the same faces all over town. Even though I know only a few people, these friendly strangers make me feel like I belong here.

I haven’t been writing lately. I’ve been caught in the busyness of transition—living downtown, settling in, a new job in the works. Most of the time in my newly found adult life, I feel like I have no idea what I am doing. Looking around, I think a lot of others are just like me: doing whatever it takes to get by and find happiness.

Twice now, I have seen two different couples guiding each other through the bus tunnels: blind. Each pair did the same thing—held each other arm in arm and felt ahead with the safety poles. Somehow, I have a feeling they all made it where they were aiming to go.

So here we are—we’re all working our way through, arms outstretched before us seeking joy, but when we show love by just taking one of those arms into the arm of another, we really are just the blind leading the blind, but it’s a hell of a lot better than being alone.

someone else.

Two people catch a glance at each other in opposite reflections in the bus windows. Those two people are a stranger and me. What if we met?

I’m learning that I don’t really know how to meet people “in the real world”. I talk to a lot of strangers, sure, but it never goes beyond mindless chatter: “What a beautiful day” or “That’s a good book” or “Excuse me, this is my stop”. As people streamed onto the bus this morning, I stared them all down, as usual. (I always imagine I have a very unhappy morning face on as I do this; probably why I don’t meet anyone.)

A very tall man sat down next to a very tall lady, who I’ve seen before, and I thought they would be a cute couple.

So many women get on the bus with big flashy diamonds on their left hands. The delicately hold their purses and their phones, careful not to let the ring touch anything. Even their lips seem delicate as they sit closed and quiet.

I’ve noticed that the tall woman doesn’t wear a ring. And she always reads the same kinds of fantasy novels that are always printed in the same size. Like how the large balding man that rides the 2 always reads books by the same author –Lee Child. He’s so young and wears cute round glasses, but also sports no ring. Back to the tall lady.

She is beautiful but not like the delicate women. She has a long face and wears little to no makeup. She has straight, blonde hair to her shoulders that isn’t perfect; it lays in small strands and sometimes a few hairs stick out of place. She looks alone. Like she just seems like she would be single, and I wonder if she has a boyfriend. And I hope that she does, the way I hope to one day. This all sounds offensive, but I mean it kindly.

In the meantime, in the waiting, I want to love her. I want to give her a hug and be her friend and tell her that she is beautiful because she is.

When one of the ladies at community first said “I love you” to me—in encouragement, in salutation—I froze. For someone to be standing in front of me and fully say, “I love you” –I forgot what it felt like, a friend to just say it like that and not in “luv u” or “love ya” but the whole thing: I love you.

I’m learning more and more that I have no idea what love looks like. I think back to the boyfriends I had in the past and honestly can’t say if I ever felt love or was in love. This sounds terrible because I know that I told them I loved them, but I just don’t know. I think I want the answer to be ‘no’ because if I did, I loved them terribly.

I know now that, if nothing else, love is a choice. I based past relationships off of fuzzy feelings, though I’m not sure where those came from. But when the fuzzy feelings quickly disappeared, shit got real and hard, and I kept at it because it seemed like the thing to do. But it was always over. Love isn’t a fuzzy feeling.

So how do you find someone when love is a choice? No longer relying on two people to feel fuzzy feelings but two people to choose each other. Someone must choose to love me.

As all of these strangers got on the bus, I wondered what it would be like to know one or two of them. To really know them. There are so many people in the world. I always only ever see the men within my known social groups. Then I tell myself that my next boyfriend must be someone I don’t know yet because there’s a whole world out there. It’s such a funny thing, like I’m always looking ahead and not looking directly in front of me. I don’t even know how to meet new people.

It’s all a very funny topic that I know very little on. My emotions flux on the topic of singleness. As of right now, I have no timeline, just a prayer and a hope, like in You’ve Got Mail when Meg Ryan dreamily gazes up when asked “What about you? Is there someone else?” and she says, “No, but there’s the dream of someone else.”

Oh yeah, I went there. And I’m sitting on it.