I started my day with songwriting. For me, this is one of the most uplifting ways to begin a new day.
I woke up on the earlier side and met with a few folks downtown to begin discussing a new songwriting project. I left the meeting elated and filled with hope.
I floated my way down Merrimack Street on my home.
As I walked by the Subway shop on the corner of Merrimack and Shattuck, I noticed several large pieces of metal and iron resting in a row on the edge of the sidewalk.
Intrigued, I slowed my step and gently touched a few of the minutes as I walked by.
I set my bag and ukulele down, took out my camera, and took a picture.
A person sitting at the table spoke to be in a gruff voice. I would not specifically call him a man, for he was masculine in gender but neither noble or mature in action. A small black and tan chihuaha, who sat on the black, iron grated table beside him, behaved with more calm and poise than he.
Ma’am, what are you doing?
I am taking a picture.
I’m gonna ask you to stop taking pictures.
Why?
Because I asked you to.
I’m sorry. I am not sure why it is a problem for me to take photographs of these pipes.
Ma’am, just move on and get out of here.
I am fairly certain this is a free country and as such, I am free to take photographs of whatever I want.
At this point, a young staff member came outside, smiled at me, and explained that they were redoing their A/C unit. This explained all of the strange metal piping.
Cool! I responded.
I proceeded to take a couple of photographs.
The wounded soul at the table grew more defensive and aggressive.
He reminded me that I was to cease my activity and get the (*&^ out of there.
I refused to respond with anger or fear. Though I felt a slight, involuntary tremor running through my hands, I did not return his aggression. I felt an acute awareness of his energy and my own.
I told him that I recommended therapy for anger management. I really believe that therapy with a skilled therapist who fits your personality and needs is an incredible gift.
He told me to go do something constructive with my life.
I suggested the same to him, and I told him that I wished him well in as a pleasant a voice as I could muster.
I really felt no anger toward him.
The entire interaction was quite strange and surprising.
From where did his defensive, aggressive behavior derive? What kind of hurt had he suffered from someone he trusted?
How could someone as diminutive and unassuming in stature cause him to feel threatened? Where did he learn that anger and verbal abuse was a reasonable response to an action that made him uncomfortable?
And why would anyone be counter to such a harmless act?
I will never know, but I do hope that he is able to find peace for his poor, wounded soul.
life of m 