...is no longer my dollar. I had carried it around in my car for about a month or so hoping to run into someone who needed it, asked for it, that it
really belonged to (see my previous
blog about the dollar). And, oddly enough, during this time I was never in the position (when in my car) to hand it over. I either didn't see anyone, was in the wrong lane, was driving quickly by, or something.
The other day I did finally find myself at a light directly next to a gentleman with a very dog-eared sign stating, "Just need a leg up." I held my dollar up, he came to my car, I handed it to him, he mumbled a "thanks", and then he proceeded to walk down the line of cars, what I imagined he'd been and would be doing for some hours.
Now, his reaction to the "transaction" didn't surprise me at all, but I found that mine did. For some reason over the past month I had built up in my head that it would feel good to let go of this dollar that was not my own. And I have to say that it absolutely did not make me feel good, but it did make me feel. I live a chunk of my life with my head buried in the sand as, admittedly, I simply cannot handle the anguish of the unknown strangers, the tragedies that unfold in this world every day, the injustice to our fellow humans and the animals of this world...and this "transaction" brought it home for me in that moment. The tiniest dip of my toe into the pool of life that another experiences...and when the light turned green I was thrust back into my own life, almost as though nothing had happened...almost.
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