Gratitude

I started this day annoyed. When I arrived at the streetcar stop, I was late for work. I waited, and waited, watching hopefully down the road for a glimpse of the streetcar lights. More people arrived, bunching up on the sidewalk like grapes. Checking their watches. Stepping out into the street. Sighing impatiently. Time passed, and I decided to walk to the subway. I rushed down the street, irritated by the delay. I didn't notice the beauty of the day.

As I adjusted my sunglasses, a young man smiled at me. The beautiful, ambient Desire by Blank and Jones filled my ears. I slowed down. I noticed the bright, cloudless sky. I walked by a garden full of flowers. I saw lovely colours. Blue. Pink. Red. Yellow. I felt the warmth of the sun on my arms. I felt my heart expand. I filled with breath. I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me. And my eyes filled with tears. Tears of gratitude. For beauty. And for life.

And I realized that gratitude is always there, waiting, that it occurs naturally in every one of us. All we have to do is ask for it. Gratitude always strikes me when I least expect it, and sometimes I feel embarassed by my tears. It seems silly to be moved to tears by the colour of the sky. Maudlin to cry over a garden full of flowers. It's why I hide behind dark glasses. Avoid eye contact. Stay locked behind an impenetrable wall.

For how can one afford to be so vulnerable in a world ruled by the timing of streetcars?