A short time back, during another one of my blogging hiatuses, I had a typically insignificant experience that I got a much deeper meaning out of, something usual for me.
There were a few feet of fresh snow on the ground; the really glittery and untouched virginal type of snow. I was walking down the street, on my way to the store, feeling kind of giddy and just generally in a good mood. At one point an impulse in me decided to lean over and using my finger as a pencil, draw a heart in the snow. As I'm in the middle of drawing the left candy cane to complete my heart, I hear a strong voice behind me.
Startled, I say "What?" before the man, at least twenty years older than I, who turned out to be the owner of the voice, could even finish his question.
"I asked if you're in love!"
"Yes, I am!" I reply with a childlike giggle and a smile, to a stranger. A stranger with a large backpack, a mentionable height of at least six feet, and most importantly: a brogue.
As I continue to walk with a cautious distance of at least two meters between myself and the man, he proceeds to ask about my age. After a few seconds of hesitating, simply because I'm unsure if I should answer honestly, I tell him my age in truth. He tells me that I'm young; this is expected, but I don't take offense to it as I normally would (because that's normally said to me in a negative way) Seconds later, I tell the man it was nice to meet him and cross the street. At this point the reason I crossed the street was not because I feared the potential danger of him, but because the store I was intending to go to was across that street.
The Irish backpacker interested me. His vulnerability and lack of direction in a city he was not native to is what made me feel like I was not being violated when he spoke to me. In Chicago, it is normally frowned upon if a middle aged man starts a conversation with a teenage girl on the street. No matter how naive it would be considered by many, I will forever be convinced that this man was completely harmless and had no wrong intentions. Although he interested me, I still made the choice to cross the street and go to the store. Normally I would procrastinate buying whatever it is I needed to buy if there was a distraction similar to this, but I felt very content with the cliffhanger of a conversation I had with him. I did not learn his name, age, or reason for visiting. This is why some may question what reasoning I have to believe that he didn't set out to harm me. However, the main thing I'm taking out of this experience is this: You don't always have to overindulge in things you find nice. In many cases, less is more. The sense of wonder that remained after I left was a very fulfilling feeling.
There were a few feet of fresh snow on the ground; the really glittery and untouched virginal type of snow. I was walking down the street, on my way to the store, feeling kind of giddy and just generally in a good mood. At one point an impulse in me decided to lean over and using my finger as a pencil, draw a heart in the snow. As I'm in the middle of drawing the left candy cane to complete my heart, I hear a strong voice behind me.
Startled, I say "What?" before the man, at least twenty years older than I, who turned out to be the owner of the voice, could even finish his question.
"I asked if you're in love!"
"Yes, I am!" I reply with a childlike giggle and a smile, to a stranger. A stranger with a large backpack, a mentionable height of at least six feet, and most importantly: a brogue.
As I continue to walk with a cautious distance of at least two meters between myself and the man, he proceeds to ask about my age. After a few seconds of hesitating, simply because I'm unsure if I should answer honestly, I tell him my age in truth. He tells me that I'm young; this is expected, but I don't take offense to it as I normally would (because that's normally said to me in a negative way) Seconds later, I tell the man it was nice to meet him and cross the street. At this point the reason I crossed the street was not because I feared the potential danger of him, but because the store I was intending to go to was across that street.
The Irish backpacker interested me. His vulnerability and lack of direction in a city he was not native to is what made me feel like I was not being violated when he spoke to me. In Chicago, it is normally frowned upon if a middle aged man starts a conversation with a teenage girl on the street. No matter how naive it would be considered by many, I will forever be convinced that this man was completely harmless and had no wrong intentions. Although he interested me, I still made the choice to cross the street and go to the store. Normally I would procrastinate buying whatever it is I needed to buy if there was a distraction similar to this, but I felt very content with the cliffhanger of a conversation I had with him. I did not learn his name, age, or reason for visiting. This is why some may question what reasoning I have to believe that he didn't set out to harm me. However, the main thing I'm taking out of this experience is this: You don't always have to overindulge in things you find nice. In many cases, less is more. The sense of wonder that remained after I left was a very fulfilling feeling.
7:05 PM
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