Little Red Robin, Harbinger of Peace

Despite being hotter than satan’s microwave out today, I sat on the back porch of Atlanta Bread at lunch in an attempt to thaw myself after five hours spent sitting in my office/ice box. A cheeky little Red Robin flew right down onto my table and chirped loudly from his tiny breast as I munched my tasty sandwich and stirred my cup of soup [yes, I know its totally grotesque to be having soup outside in the heat]. So, I tossed him some breadcrumbs that he put in his mouth and flew away with, only to return soon for more, a little game that continued most of my meal. I tried repeatedly to whistle merrily at him, but he just shot me a cock-eyed glare and was all "bitch please, whistle this". Mouthy little scamp.

It was then, while sitting outside alone with my $6 sandwich, feeding the birdie, while generic classical music strained from the speakers, that I was struck with an overwhelming awareness of how profoundly fortunate I am. Most of us have these moments, suddenly awash in waves of gratitude. For me, in this instance, it came from nothing more extraordinary than eating my overpriced soup & sandwich combo, sipping an icey Diet Coke, healthy, well-clothed and on break from a summer job that pays me more in a day than much of the world sees in a month, or even a year.

Of course, I don’t believe its wrong or patently greedy to have goals and work towards self-advancement in numerous different ways, some which are, to be blunt, merely external or superficial. Key to all of that however, to keep it all in some awkward balance, is managing to detach, even if only briefly, from the "more, more, more" mindset that so constantly pervades my focus and just soak in the sea of blessings that I have right now.

Moments like these have been more frequent in my life since the traumatic car accident I was in earlier this summer. It’s cheesy to say, but nevertheless true, how random and serious brushes with mortality have a way of forcing things into perspective. I’ve been somewhat reticent to write much about it, but suffice it to say, the lingering psychological effects of the accident have proven to far outlast the more jarring physical ones.

Being very all-by-myself in Tennessee this summer has had a lot to do with the added reflection, I’m sure. "Thank you" and "I love you" are phrases flowing from my heart and out of my mouth a lot more now. For whatever reasons, I've traditionally been hesistant to say those things outloud, even if I was thinking it. What I'm realizing, slowly but surely, is that I won't ever be sorry that I told someone how much I love or appreciate them, no matter how big or small the reason may be; but that I may always regret it if I don't.

Ya know, even if a short burst of deep, universal gratitude is born only from something as tiny as a few minutes of Robin-feeding harmony during my lunch break, I’ll take it. Or to borrow from my friend Elizabeth, "don’t sweat the petty stuff and don’t pet the sweaty stuff".