I spent a fair amount of time on Friday talking about “luck”, and, in doing so, attempted to psychologically outwit myself, and my pessimism, by declaring–in a typically sarcastic fashion–that my fortune may well change heading into Valentine’s Day the next day. Well, to cut a very short story even shorter, it didn’t. So much for that tactic, eh?
Maybe next time I’ll get a palm-reading, or better yet, get in touch with one of those tarot-card-fortune-teller-whatsit-persons. You know the one’s; they look like crazy-cat-lady people but they’re more bohemian-looking and actually have a job. Not that crazy-cat-lady people don’t have jobs, I’m just saying. I guess I just assume they don’t have jobs ‘cos they’re too busy looking after their house(s)-full of cats and screaming at young children from their decrepit 19th-century mansion porches for no reason whatever except that they didn’t bring them another cat to look after. That’s how I imagine them anyway. Nevermind. Put that down as a digression.
The point is, no bare-skinned mythological cherub-God with wings holding a bow ready to induce romance with the precise aim of his arrows going by the name of “Cupid” turned up. I assume he was busy–or maybe just savvy. It was spectacularly cold yesterday and, well, you know, a drop in temperature can have an “effect” on “things”. If you catch my drift. The kid/cherub God/kid-cherub-God is always naked for goodness sake. How can he be in possession of a weapon and not have any clothes?! That’s just begging for child-God social services to get involved. Nevermind. Go on, put another ‘tick’ next to the digression box.
Distractions aside, whilst romance wasn’t too prominent this past weekend, having issues with the local transport system, was. But I’m sure that’s fairly typical news to those of you reading this from Pittsburgh so I shan’t divulge. To those out-of-state, in short, I was caught in a blizzard and left in below-freezing weather for more than an hour thanks to the anti-prompt, pro-tardiness attitude of the bus system here. Could be worse mind you–at least I had some clothes on.
Amazingly, nonetheless, I happened to be left somewhat inspired by at least one of my journey’s. Having taken my seat towards the back, as I usually do, and finding a spot that was at best either a) only slightly dirty or b) only slightly dirty (it’s impossible to find an area that isn’t), I shuffled across to take the window seat and placed my backpack stuffed full of gym gear beside me. Directly in front of me was a short barricade with plexiglass attached to the top to separate the standing area and second door with the back half of the bus. On the barricade, in purple marker pen and written by an unsteady hand, read the words “We all want to leave a mark”.
This time, irony aside–considering the perpetrator had already left theirs–I began to think about the significance of the words and it struck me that something as juvenile as a hurried scribble of graffiti written within the confines of a public vehicle could be as profound as it was. I mean, isn’t it true? Don’t we all want to leave behind some kind of legacy before our time is up?
“Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none” – William Shakespeare
I’m certain everyone does, and certain everyone has a different perspective of how to do that: it could be through finances earned, perhaps; how prestigious one’s job title is; how many cars, houses and other such possessions are accumulated; or how many women and/or men one can be with in a lifetime; how many places one can travel (but not necessarily experience) to; [for the sadists out there] it could be about committing the worst of crimes even; but for me, there’s only one way I want–strive–to leave a mark: through the relationships I forge. The connections I make. The love I give.
All too often such a simple concept gets lost amongst the humdrum of everyday living. And sure, having a stable job, sufficient funds and iPhone-like technology is great, it makes things a lot easier, but what will any of that matter when your life’s time has finally ticked its last tock? The legacy of your character, will, I believe, last for generations, and that’s something worth living for without much doubt at all.
And to think a potentially prepubescent, dosed up on felt-tip-fumes high-school tearaway whose most notable concern currently is which bus to vandalize next held more of an influence over me recently than a Roman God. Pull your socks up* Cupid. Oh wait, you don’t have any.
*British idiom: to make an effort to improve your work or behaviour because it is not good enough