It weighs 445 million pounds.
I made my way down the cascading elevator bank to the ground floor of the Sears Willis Tower. It is an incredibly well-programmed office building with all the trappings. It’s where Joe gets you coffee or juice, and your greens are of the sweet variety.
My feet know how to find a sushi counter I have on repeat to satisfy my sustainably sourced blue fin needs. Tucked on the ground floor, you’ll find that the branding eclipses the sushi with the speed of service beats both.
The counter fits eight, but most raw fish-eating topo chico-consuming patrons choose the pre-made case. Don’t cringe. They do an excellent job keeping the case temperature just right.
Waiting Gently
The line was longer than usual. My phone naturally found its way into my back right pocket, and I looked up. At the end of the counter was a big man. White shirt, no tie, dark grey suit with jet black hair combed straight back. His skin was darker than mine, with a wispy Lincoln-esque beard. It was his hands that struck me.
In the torrent of fluttering access cards carried by rushing 20-somethings, he sat quietly with his fingers interlaced. The thick parts of his meaty hands rested on the sharp edge of an immaculate bamboo counter - it could easily have been the back of a church pew.
He was sitting - calm, relaxed, and present. His head slowly moved as he consumed the moment and the space. I desperately wanted to know what he was thinking.
Distinctly, his phone was absent. He placed his order and waited. No need to fill time, scroll dopamine land, or any of the other things happening around him. He was not bothered by the lack of personal space as his neighbor brushed against his big shoulder. He was enjoying the moment. At least, that’s the story I told myself.
If I’m being honest, he was so calm he felt out of place. His comfortable solitude contrasted with a city of crashing humanity. I even checked for Agent K as I thought I was in a scene in Men In Black watching an offworlder interact with us humans for the first time. I wanted to talk to him.
He looked like he needed a friend, and at the same time, he seemed serenely confident in life. No rush. Just now. Maybe his life was the complete opposite. Perhaps he was there for a job interview or just finished visiting his aging mother in the hospital. Whatever the reality, he sent a vibe into the world - “I’m me, this is now, and I’m at peace.” It was wonderful.
My heart hurts a little today because I didn’t talk to him. He was deeply alone, or he knew the power of solitude. Either way, I know he had pockets full of wisdom to share - like all of us. His peaceful state won’t leave me anytime soon - particularly those interlaced fingers - waiting gently.
Here’s to more moments of resting gently in what is often not a gentle world. May we give ourselves the grace and time to enjoy it all.
Be gentle, friends.
I'll Wait, Thank You