Brave Decisions
Remember a time you were at the wrong party, walking down an unfamiliar street or living a life that wasn’t true to you?
You were too far in and didn’t know how to get back.
What changed? It was the decision to pivot, maybe even a complete 180.
To get back would mean cutting through, hoping to find the you left behind.
Only to find, she no longer exists. Today’s story is a bit like that.
I was at the art museum, at an event that didn’t go as well as I hoped. The weather had been threatening all afternoon. I wandered out to my car through the raindrops. I sensed discomfort and felt compelled to go outside. Don’t know why I felt the pull at that moment.
As I made my way to the parking lot, I saw a woman fumbling the locked door to the education center with arms full.
“Do you need something,” I asked.
She said she was an art student, returning supplies. As I got closer, she said the door is usually open, that she was donating art supplies. I mentioned as I continued to my car, that she could go to the front door, maybe they would take them.
She protested “I can’t. I just need to leave them.”
“Don’t do that,” I said. “Just ask.”
She kept talking as she walked toward the main door. I went to my car, shaking my head, thinking the museum doesn’t have a use for those supplies. On my way back into the building, the woman was coming out, sobbing now. She continued the story of how she ended up here, on this night, at this time.
I suspect at least part of her story was fabricated, but her distress was real.
I asked her is this what is distressing you at this moment?
“I’m an artist, an environmentalist, I can’t throw these out, but they (the people buying her house?) are being unreasonable.” As I look at the items in her arms, spray cans and a container of stripping agent.
I chided, “what are you a tagger?”
She cracked a smile.
They are not even mine. They were left, but now I don’t know what to do.
“Let me take these,” I said as I took the cans of spray paint one by one. Lastly, the can of stripper, rusted through.
“I can tell it’s been a long day. Today will be done soon enough.
Tomorrow will look a lot different. You can start over tomorrow.”
She protested through her tears. “But can you use these? I don’t even know if they work?”
“No, but they are weighing heavy on you, so I’ll take them.”
She thanked me profusely and said “everyone thinks I’m crazy – I’m acting crazy.”
“Everyone IS a bit crazy,” I said. “You just have to find the right crazy. You just happened to find a person, that is your kind of crazy, today.”
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Maria…” as she continued her explanations.
“I don’t belong here,” she said.
I told her I understand the feeling of being displaced.
“Yes, displaced! that’s what I feel,” she said.
“So now you decided and tomorrow will look much different.”
We took a selfie, as friends do, and I gave her a hug.
She walked away, lighter in her steps.
To all the “Maria’s” out there, I hear you, I see you. Make a decision, keep going.
If you’re struggling, reach out and ask for help. Find a meeting. Get a therapist. Call a friend.
We don’t have to do this alone. We were never meant to.
