There he was in the locker room ironing his pants.
He’s this old, bald, Asian man I call “Iron Man” (to myself). He always has at least 2 pairs of pants to iron in the locker room. I hadn’t seen him in 2 years.
On my way back to the office, I passed the flower stand lady cutting stems. She opened up back about a month ago, but I seemed to notice her for the first time today.
On Tuesday, I got my shoes shined from good ole Jim at a Shine & Co.
This morning I got my favorite breakfast burrito from Cafe Venue.
My office is filling back up and once again there are unwashed dishes stacked in the sink and food spoiling in the fridge.
It’s A Wonderful Life
San Francisco just lifted its mask mandate last Tuesday, so depending on where you live, maybe you’ve taken a tour through this emotion already.
But seeing these familiar strangers and doing these familiar things makes me feel like George Bailey.
Like George kissing the broken bannister as he ran up the stairs, I wanted to kiss Iron Man’s bald head when I saw him ironing again today.
I know this gratitude will fade over time.
But I also can’t help thinking that something has fundamentally shifted in all of us.
Like I’m certain that even a decade from now my Friday breakfast burrito will still taste as it did this morning – like the best one I’ve ever had.
Lester Burnham nailed this feeling in American Dream:
“And I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life” …even the unwashed dishes and spoiled food.
