It feels, of late, that I am in over my head. Things, life…keeps shifting; altering shape and dimension. I am running as quickly as I can, attempting to keep up. Yet, the room keeps turning.
I’ll never forget my first ‘big girl’ job at the age of 20, landing a gig with one of the most reputable financial advisory companies on the trading floor. It was an incredible time in my life. I had begun a promising position with a great company; I had youth, felt beautiful, confident and invincible.
It was Pre-Covid, Christmastime in Chicago. The usual blistering wind, and rhythmic thumping of hundreds of crowded feet scurrying to and fro on the pavement of Michigan Avenue. I had spent the afternoon shopping at the infamous Marshall Fields on state street, followed by a glass of celebratory retail therapy bubbly in the sparkly Walnut Room.
As I finally exited the store several hours later, I was weighed down by at least three shopping bags on each arm. Each jammed with decadent surprises for everyone on my list. I headed out of the revolving doors onto State Street, smelling of the latest perfume I had sampled from one of the counters on my way out. On State Street, bells rang and lights gleamed…it felt perfectly like ‘Christmastime in the city.’
As I made my way past the doors, the pre-covid crowds were unbelievable, and overwhelming. Literally, hundreds of people lining around the building to view the famous Marshall Fields windows. I could barely manage all the bags I was carrying that were slowly squeezing the circulation from my arms, but decided to shove my way through to take in a window or two, anyway.
I walked towards the one window with the fewest people standing around it, and just as I arrived close enough to view the dancing dolls, and fairytale vignettes… I noticed a police officer standing in front of that window, not allowing anyone too close. As I moved nearer, I saw a man; older, dirty, ragged…he looked like a street person, lying on the ground in a fetal position. The crowds redirected themselves towards the next nearest window, jammed so closely together there weren’t even cracks big enough for glimpsing. As I stood less than a foot away I noticed that his eyebrows and face were pinched tightly, they looked almost frozen.
As I moved closer, It was clear the man lying on the ground had died. Right there, on the street in front of the Christmas window- a human being had frozen to death.
I stood motionless for what felt like hours, and watched the world race past him. Christmas carols played softly in the background. I couldn’t move, the world quieted to a murmur and the only sound left that was audible was my own heartbeat. As the tears rolled down my face, I couldn’t help wondering why people were still looking at Christmas windows while a man, a human being, someone’s son- was laying dead on the sidewalk amidst us.
The bags on my arms felt now like they were full of bricks. Less from the actual weight of them, and more from the realization that what I was carrying was absolutely meaningless and worthless, juxtaposed to the human life which had spilled out onto that frozen sidewalk.
In that instant, I felt confused, saddened, helpless, and minute. I realized that I was attempting to make sense of what was happening, as I do many days in life that feel overwhelming or nonsensical to me.
I was wrestling with what it looks like to exist in a world that at times leaves me questioning my own sanity. That day in particular, I couldn’t grasp how we, I went on…shoving past the crowds to watch dancing dolls, indulging in bags of things void of soul- while a man lay dead on the frozen ground.
I am often still in over my head and lose control of the days, I admit it.
Now, on those days, I close my eyes and recall the always warm and fuzzy grin of my grandfather- who faithfully reminded me to “keep on keeping on.” I remember the guidance of my grandmother who encouraged me as a little girl to always find ways to serve & encourage others as often as I can find the opportunity. I’m reminded that all we have is this present moment and the gift of leaving the world, and each other just a little better than we found it …one day at a time.