I was taking a nice long walk recently, combining exercise with errands. Near one house, I noticed a small flower pot by the sidewalk. The pot was surrounded by painted stones, and there was a note inviting passersby to take one so that we might have a little more beauty in our lives.
As I bent down to pick up a pretty green stone, a young man driving by in a truck (somehow it seems significant that he was in a truck) yelled out his window "Oh my god, look at all that ass." It was not a compliment. It didn't shake me badly or anything, but it did lightly sour a sweet experience. I right away called up Sweet Hubby to tell him what had happened. After all, every creature seeks safety when it feels threatened, and SH is my safe harbor.
SH laughed and said "Did you have your donkey with you?" I laughed right back and said "Honey Pie, my donkey goes with me everywhere." We laughed some more about how ridiculous people can be, and SH poured some love all over me, and then it was fine and I was fine and I continued on my way.
It occurred to me that this would have been a very different sort of experience, and would have left a much more bitter taste in my mouth, if I were single now, still wanting love, still wondering why I was alone, nakedly vulnerable to the opinion of others and to my own self-doubts. What a difference it made to know I was securely loved.
I found myself, find myself still, wondering about that young man, about how he felt as he tossed his ugly little assault out the window. Did he feel a sly delight? A sense of power? A twinge of self-disgust? Or, worst of all, did he feel nothing at all? I think I wasn't real to him, my feelings were nothing to him. I didn't exist except as an opportunity for him to vent some of his discomfort and inchoate rage and the troublesome fears that at least some of the conspiracy theories he reads must be true. What happened to him that made him so afraid, so angry, so casual about hurting someone? It's hard not to wonder.
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