Broken #1

Miscellaneous Monday



Image Credit: S. Sturgeon



Two things stood out on my Just 10 walk this morning.   First, a broken trinket found in a quiet intersection.  Three plastic silver beads were unevenly divided by a round medallion the size of a quarter.  Embossed in the center of the medallion was the "# 1".  I bent to pick it up and wanted to take it home but only for a few seconds.   What could I use this for?

Was this medallion part of some prize or trophy?  Was it part of a gimcracks purchased at the dollar store?  Was it broken and dropped here on purpose?  Does it have an interesting story behind it or just a boring collection of nothing?

It was definitely a broken thing.  There was another broken thing on the trail today.  Nearing my turning point, I spotted a man standing in the shade of a small tree.  On the ground beside him, a bright yellow sweatshirt lay in a heap alongside a plastic grocery bag.    The man swayed slightly, like tall grass does in a light breeze.  I wondered if might be sick and needed help.  When I got closer, I saw a large inexpensive brand of beer in a can clutched tightly in his fist.  The grocery sack at his feet contained more of the same.  His lazy smile spoke volumes.

I said hello, made eye contact and as I walked away, I listened more keenly for the sound of feet following me.  Living alone and without a car for 14 years in Northwest Portland taught me a thing or two.  I assessed the situation and decided that given his state of inebriation, I'd probably have the edge in a physical confrontation.  His lazy smile had told me to be careful.  Fortunately, there were few bushes at this spot on the trail and we were in full view of the passing traffic.

 He was in full view.  Part of me remained careful and aware but there was a small part of me that felt nothing but pity for this man.  I looked at him, drunk so early on a Monday morning and I wondered what pain he must feel to crawl in a cheap can so early in the day.  Was his pain, while much more transparent than any I carry, really that different from my own?  I could not judge him.  His brokenness was visible but too much like the brokenness we all carry.

I may not seek comfort in a can or a bottle but I can crawl into a bag of chips or a batch of cookies in a futile attempt to hide my own misery and to drown my own pain.  I'd started out on my walk thinking what a difficult time my husband and I were having "cleaning up" our bad eating habits.  I thought about how easily I enabled us both and how co-dependent our behavior is.  I thought about addressing my husband publicly in an open letter.  I thought about airing our bad habits in a confessional act of written atonement. . . as if that would really change anything.

And, then I saw a broken man and discovered a broken #1 and knew that I was discovering something about myself.  I am broken.  I can begin again.  I will fail again.  It's all part of trail or the trial that is life.  Those two words must be similar on purpose because life is both.  None of us are getting out alive.  We're all broken #1.  We can say hello to each other as we pass.  Sometimes we can help each other.  Sometimes we need to keep our eyes on each other. Always we can learn from each other.  We walk alone and we walk together.  Trail, trial, broken #1, broken men, broken women.  There is comfort in our numbers that is much greater than the comfort of the can or bottle or cupcake.  I have only to open my heart to see it.