An older man holds a sign insistent of the value of art and idea, that these superseded wealth and possessions on which the youth of most are bartered.
Yes. I’m learning this right now. Finally. It’s been hard work, ya know?
Society has a grip on what a person’s legacy looks like—another, more youthful human. Some without a legacy to mirror themselves certainly feel pressure, even condemnation for not fulfilling the order of go forth and multiply.
There is another legacy. I accept the gratefulness of a nameless traveler who ate a nearly-hot meal because we chose one path home from a restaurant rather than another. It was a cold night, though not as cold as it is now; that doesn’t matter. I’ll never forget his response.
That is enough. These are memories I build.
Perhaps my words do not number the thousand words of an Instagram, or only 140 for a Tweet. The journey man lives in my mind and I revisit his look and demeanor, his words and pure expression of thankfulness. He was in only his first 24 hours of a long wait-to-see. (Hitchhiking or walking on the highways is illegal in at least two states here in the Pacific Northwest.)
I don’t have to keep hold of a thing to retain my own value. Letting go is so much more useful.
©2013 Sandra Davidson