“Wandering the world, armed with chalk.” This would probably be a great quote to be atop a police report for suspicious activity. Words and ideas are suspicious enough. Judging by the scarcity of anything other than impersonal superficial observations, it’s no wonder people are reluctant to disclose. We aren’t supposed to say that our souls are fatigued at times. That we might be painfully lonely. Or that when we look at people around us, we sometimes feel like opposing teams of aliens, both communicating via hieroglyphics. Each of us carries around a private world in our skull. We are certain that people will think our marbles might be scattered if we share the contents. It’s because thoughts are private and concealable. I’m sure that if mind reading were reality, after the initial shock and unfamiliarity of unavoidable honesty, we would all feel relief. We share a finite number of emotions. And we definitely like to look at other people like they are the weird ones. We can succeed at doing so only because we can curate what we express.

Some of us have poet’s hearts. Others, a practical chronometer that concerns itself only with getting things done. A few are hedonists, searching for the elusive bacchanalia that might allow them to forget themselves. Walking down Leverett, even before the sun dares to rise, the scent of recreational escape intermittently reaches my nose.  It would be easy to judge those who choose it so early in their day. But many of us choose coffee or cigarettes, both of which are cleverly concealed stimulant delivery devices.

During my chalking expedition disguised as a recreational walk this morning, I was pleased to see that the front of the line at the convenience store was occupied by a patron wearing a long blue bathrobe. I made a catty comment and it broke the ice. Because you damn well know everyone in there was secretly thinking about the dude in the robe. Was he wearing it for comfort? Attention? Was it family spa day? The explanation didn’t matter to me. I was just glad to see some weirdness. He at least had the nerve to wear it openly instead of containing it in the camouflage of his thoughts.

I left a trail of chalk thoughts. If anyone retraces my steps, they will laugh. And a couple of them will make them think. Among those possible considerations is whether the author needs to be medicated. I have a theory about that. Most of the people who use drugs should stop. And a great number of people who don’t probably should start.

Though it’s not related, one of the stories I told the clerk this morning is that it’s amazing how many things we do today that are a result of unplanned echoes from history. Even the size of our railroad tracks is largely a result of the ruts in roads from Roman chariots. And that we as people do the same thing. We find ourselves using the grooves of our past routine to subconsciously control the day we’ll have. I know it’s not the normal fodder for convenience store conversation, but it’s a hell of a lot better than talking about the upcoming gladiatorial sports event that seems to have infected everyone.

If by some miracle you are still reading this post, take a moment and imagine that you had the power to say anything you want. To anyone. Take another moment to realize that you already do. The greater the disparity between what you would like to say and what you silence is a determinant in how happy you feel.

Love, X
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