Funny how I claim to love winter, snow and ice. Yet how clear it is that winter also gunks up my receptors and makes it hard for me to see the bright side of anything, let alone life.
But, as ebb and flow works, the ebbing has reached its peak, me thinks, or its valley, and the flow is right there eager to fill in that empty space, to cover up the bare, dry spots, like it should be.
How do I know? Well the March morning sun, and its magnificent habit of adding warmth and hope to everything it touches, told me so.
Anyhow, it should be known that today was one of those days where human connection just kept flying at my head at such a dizzying rate there was no point in ducking. I just stood there and took it full in the face, like tilting my head up to the sky and letting raindrops pelt my skin.
One thing after the next, from back- to- back stories on NPR that, thankfully, highlighted all that is good about being human, to a random conversation about the pros and cons of atomic fire balls with the cashier at a local general store, to the grandfatherly-looking man reading the Rutland Herald by the door in McDonalds who sized me up, as I was on my way out with my Paul Newman's organic latté, then said, "skiing?" and I said, "snowboarding" and he said, "Oh," and I smiled, and he said "Have a good time" and smiled as if we were old friends, but the truth is I'd never seen him before in my life and he just wanted to talk to someone, to connect with someone in a way that you start to think only happens in Mayberry but actually happens everywhere every day in ways so small and fleeting, if you aren't paying attention you might, and often do, miss them.
That man probably wouldn't have spoken to me at all if I hadn't somehow invited him to. And I smiled all the way to my car thinking about how funny life is and how rewarding, how affirming, the tiniest of human exchanges can be.
People can be friendly just as often as they can be awful. If you let them.
I could go on, but I'll stop there.