I saw an old guy walking down the street of suburban sunny Florida. Even though he is bent forward a bit, his walk is steady, his gaze is straight, and nothing seems to distract him. A dark mustache tells me that his sense of fashion got stuck in the seventies or eighties. His baseball hat, pulled deep down in his face, nearly covering the eyes, stated that he had served in the military. I imagine what he might have witnessed during his trips for the army: bad things perhaps, brutal murder, injustice but also comradery, friendship; lost friendship maybe? There seems to be no goal to his walk, the walk itself is reason enough to be outside and to take in some sensations: the heat, the light, the noise and the smells.
What is he thinking about that makes him look so unhappy and so grumpy? He might think about all kinds of worrisome things. There is still this pandemic out there that everybody talks about constantly. He might not really grasp all the details about the virus, that kills some but doesn't affect others and that keeps the world in distress since over a year. He might not be able to see his whole family, he might not be able to meet the last couple of friends he still has. He might think about the unity of the nation back in the days of the cold war that now seems to crumble more and more, such that the divide between neighbors becomes more and more intrenched. He might wonder where he will end up, what's still out there for him?
This old grumpy guy is not walking alone, he has some company that gives sense and meaning to the whole situation. This company gives him hope and makes all the bad things that might have happened in his life worthwhile living through until these moments. He is not allowed to give up, he is not allowed to let himself be pulled down into the abyss of negativity. I also didn't see this man only once, I see him every day on my way to work taking his responsibility seriously to take a walk and push the stroller with his little grandchild.
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