If We Are In Need of Awe
On a flight from Chicago, I eat a ripe banana.
I’d plucked the banana off a supermarket shelf in Manhattan, Kansas.
I’d come to Manhattan for work that grew out of a kind, visionary friend I’d met in Washington, D.C.
I’d been in D.C. working in the marbled halls of Congress.
I’d come to D.C. from the deserts of India where, while developing a school with a community of lower caste musicians, I saw how clueless I was about international development policy.
I’d gone to those deserts of India during my 18 months off from college.
I’d taken time off from college because when my mother said goodbye to me on campus after Thanksgiving break, she saw tears falling down my face onto the pavement. It was when she knew and I acknowledged how deep my discontent was.
I’d been discontent going to college right after high school; but that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? It just hadn’t been right for me.
I could keep on excavating. But the truth is already evident: for me to eat that ripe banana, doors had to open, things had to go right and go wrong, stars had to align, misalign, realign.
If we are in need of awe. If we are in need of a reminder of the enormity of the present moment. Look to the ripe banana or keys on our key chain or steering wheel in our hands or any mundanity before us and cast back over the incredible tumble of events that led us to this point in time.
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