I have the day off today. One of the many beautiful things about working for a Christian organization? Their respect for Good Friday.
I'm currently sitting in Starbucks...on the 40th floor of the Columbia tower.
I've been wanting to do this since I found out it existed. You're going to let me explore a tall building without sneaking, and then you're going to let me sit and look around? Yes please. So here I sit, in the very corner, smashed up against the windows. Happy as a clam (whatever that means).
my view, currently.
There's something really powerful about heights to me. It stirs up the adventure section of my heart, and the reflective place in my soul, two of my favorite spaces to occupy.
I rode public transportation for the first time today. I will be doing that more often. Few places can you get a group of people from literally all different walks of life, sitting in one space with nothing to do but think or talk. The opportunities to connect, listen and find common ground are right there, because for these few minutes our lives, experiences, and baggage are smashed into this noisy connection capsule.
Melissa just moved here from San Diego because her partner got a job. She was a restaurant manager at home, but hasn't found a job yet, so it's been hard. Glamma in her 60s chimes in from behind her sunglasses, she just moved here from Arizona for her daughter. The rain has been hard. Mr. Huge Football Ring is going to visit his nephews in West Seattle. He loves pets and his heart just breaks when he sees those commercials of abused animals. I can relate.
When I got off there was a woman sitting alone and yelling on the bench at the bus stop. As I passed by I considered stopping and talking to her, stopping to see her, but I didn't. And as I walked up the hill with her screams bouncing off the buildings I regretted every step.
I'm reading this book called "Becoming Human" by Jean Vanier. I'm not far into it, but I can tell you that Jean is an amazing man who leads a life full of stopping when he should. In his chapter about loneliness he writes:
I once visited a psychiatric hospital that was kind of a warehouse of human misery. Hundreds of children with severe disabilities were lying, neglected, on their cots. There was a deadly silence. Not one of them was crying. When they realize that nobody cares, that nobody will answer them, children no longer cry. It takes too much energy. We cry out only when there is hope that someone may hear us.
I bet that woman hasn't been heard in a long time.