Today I woke up.
As I sat on the bus on my daily hour plus ride home from work I felt tired, hungry, and annoyed that someone had sat next to me in the cramped bus seat. Then the old man sitting in front of me started chit chatting with the young pretty thirty something bus driver. As I rolled my eyes I thought, “Oh great, he’s going to be a talker.”
I closed my eyes trying to drain out his voice. As I rested my head on the window, willing the bus to hurry so I could get home to my couch I couldn’t help but listen to the old man and young woman’s conversation.
The old man was retired and had recently moved to Denver from Pheonix. He had stopped using his car upon his arrival 18 months ago and had solely been relying on public transportation and his old, worn legs to get around. He had been doing day trips on the bus Monday-Fridays to little towns around the area that he had never visited before. He had fallen in love with Evergreen earlier this week. It reminded him of Zurich, Switzerland, the way the mountains grew right out of the lake.
You see, this man was a traveler. He had dedicated his life to travel, had visited everywhere you can imagine. He spoke of dining on the Italian Riviera, working as a farm hand picking potatoes in Austria, listening to the violent monsoons in the Philippines. His favorite place was Quebec. For some reason he felt at home in those tiny French towns.
He preferred staying in hostels. He enjoyed the company of his ever-changing roommates, enjoyed eating breakfast with new friends, and exploring the city together.
He had 15 trips planned for the next year alone. He was at least 80 years old.
As we turned onto the highway leading into Denver we all got a great view of the city. The old man simply said, “There’s my home, I’m so happy I moved here.”
The young bus driver asked him where he lived and he said downtown in the Sunrise towers. He told her it was an apartment for seniors and the physically disabled, a wonderful community full of friendly and kind people.
As he hobbled off the bus he said goodbye to the bus driver and started his slow and peaceful walk home. I also started mine.
As I walked to my apartment it occurred to me that I had been asleep lately. I wasn’t sure how long- maybe days, maybe weeks.
But I was awake now. Suddenly it was clear. I noticed the beauty of the downtown architecture, the interesting lines that made up the cracks in the pavement. The blossoms bursting out of the ground and out of the branches of trees. I heard conversations and the laughter of people in the nearby restaurants; I felt the strength in my young legs beneath me as I walked energetically. I felt the breath inhale into my lungs. I noticed my aliveness, I was awake.
I was mad at myself for forgetting. Forgetting that I don’t have to walk home from the bus, but I get to walk home from the bus. Forgetting that I don’t have to listen to an old man rambling on about his life, but that I get to listen to a being that has truly connected with this world, with other hearts on this planet, and has really lived and experienced the opportunity in this world that he has been given.
I know there will be times in the future where I forget again, but I refuse to let myself forget for long. This is MY life, MY gift, and you better believe that I am going to be awake for it.
I learned to make this the other day at a pot luck/ cooking class/ chicken raising class put on by this awesome group called the Root Sellers. They are a group that comes together to learn about different facets of homesteading...canning, gardening, animal husbandry, cheese making, etc. The focus on this meet up was all things eggs. It really was eggcelent, eggciting...you get the jist.