Tuesday Morning

I am a firm believer that we can overcome most of our faults, our obstacles, and the traits that prevent us from becoming better. My mother taught me that there is always something to work on and that we can never rest from that task. We are to continually progress. We heard the stories over and over again that my great grandmother's dream was to move her family to a free country, my grandmother's dream was to see her daughters graduate from High School, my mother's dream was to see her children off to college.

I'm always striving to fine tune some quality or another to become the best version of myself and let go of those things that would stand in my way. All except for one. I have a deep-seated fear of thunder.

Go ahead. Laugh.

Lightning I can handle. I only cringe when I see it knowing that soon to follow will be some loud overwhelming growl from the skies. I never really bought into the whole angels bowling or rearranging furniture stories. I even believe that God truly loves me. However, nothing seems to ease the anxiety and deep to the core shaking that comes from being in the midst of a well structured thunderstorm. In college I would cower in the hallways, at home I would climb into my little sister's bed, and now a mature adult, I pull the covers over my head and lie very still, hoping that it will all pass quickly, or if at the office, whimper softly at my desk.

I once read that a fear of loud noises is the only fear which is not a learned fear. That most babies are born with an innate fear of loud noises. But those are babies, somewhere along the way I was supposed to overcome that fear. However, I haven't. Some find the trait in me endearing, others see the immaturity, regardless it is there.

Last night's storm was unbelievable. Coworkers reveled in the majesty of it, I however, turned into my 5 year old self.

This morning, like most Tuesday mornings my mother came into the city so we could meet briefly to exchange things that she's brought me, or I've found for her. The items are not of any urgent significance, but a reason to get together. Mostly she likes to see me, to verify that when I tell her everyday by telephone that I'm doing well, that indeed I am doing well, because she knows that her little girl is still vulnerable and in need of tender loving care even if I won't admit it.

I often reflect and wonder when a parent can sit back and breathe and let their children off knowing that they have done well and that all will be well. I don't think that day ever comes.

After our morning meeting, I take the opportunity to walk the few blocks to work along Central Park West and past Columbus Circle. Usually there in the sunlight I get to witness dozens of men setting up the temporary stands that will capture the attention of thousands of tourist throughout the day. I watch them unpack every item from storage bins, set up food carts, and lay out t-shirts; tasks that are repeated day in and day out.

I admit, I walk by the photographs and wonder if they have been properly licensed, but after doing a brief assessment I look at the purveyors faces, and wonder how they do it. How do they painstakingly place each item on their feeble stands, knowing that in a few hours, after being in the hot sun all day, dealing with people who will haggle them, those who will try to steal from them, and those who will simply take up their time by asking for directions without so much as pretending to make a purchase, they will have to take each item down, re-wrap it and put it away to start all over again the next day.

I've decided they are men of great dreams. They are the type of men who build this city. They are men who look forward, who are more concerned about the future generation than they are of their own. These men are fathers, who come with little, but who hope that with each day they can do more to support a better life than they currently have for their children.

Today, there were no merchants. Chased out by the rain there was no one trying to rent me a bike, no one smiling hoping I would stop to look at their prints, no one offering me a pair of sunglasses. As I walked by I imagined the stresses that come from not knowing what a weeks income will be, or if the rain will let up in time to pay the electric bill. I then remembered all of the people who helped me be where I was, those who had struggled to make sure I had a better life.

Tomorrow, their children will still work when it rains, they will get a steady paycheck at the end of the week, and at the end of the day they will leave the office and come back to it the very same way it was left. They will have gained a great deal of work ethic by watching their fathers and they will work hard to support a better life for their children.

These are the people who make up New York City. Those who are here for themselves are squeezed out. It is those who are here to grow, to be stronger, and to build legacies that will stay and do the work, just as those before them.

Turning the corner a flash of lightning and a hint of thunder crashed, and I didn't cower. I calmed my racing heart and moved forward, knowing that I needed to be better.