There’s A Space

“Your fucker sister was here” is scrawled in red marker cursive across the beige enamel base of the discarded table lamp.
I spot it on my walk home.
The lamp sits among the garbage in front of a house waiting for pick-up.
The words remind me that I can lash out when my relationships aren’t what I’d like them to be.
Today there’s a space between the feelings expressed on the lamp and who I am.
I observe the same feelings inside but I don’t attach to them.
In that space is peace.
I keep walking.

A horn blares a series of beep-beeeeeep-beeeeeeps as I cross the intersection.
I turn to look and see a man in an idling car next to a building.
Beeep-beeeeeep-beeeeeeep!
No one comes.
He drives off.
The horn reminds me of an irritation that’s been inside of me all day.
I am aware of this irritation and I accept it.
This feeling has a right to live.
There’s a space inside, too.
I have a choice.
I can grasp or open my hand.
I open my hand.
Patience is a form of gentleness with the self.

Two dogs, a boxer and a smaller dog, yapp at me from their side of the chain link fence falling over each as they match my pace.
As soon as we get to the end of the property, their barking stops.
I notice how easy it would have been for me to taunt these little animals or let their barking irritate me.
There’s a space inside that lets me know I am larger than what I think or feel in any given moment.
I know the dogs are just doing their job. Dogs bark.
I keep walking.

I’m home a little early tonight.
I had wanted to join some friends for dinner in our weekly lesbians over 30 supper club
But it seemed like walking straight home tonight was the best path.
They’ll be there next week.
For tonight, I’m grateful for the space inside.