I met a man who calls himself Matteo.

I met him in the mountains and he went on and on within various topics and his most inspired, to me, became his brazen and enthusiastic claim that not all things are meant for all people

that some huts should stay huts,

that some huts should stay not four-star accommodations with cable cars and sauna services and un-potable water.

that there should be some scraps left to those who dare choose try to climb the highest and hardest

and to those humans only and exclusively.

But what of equity? I ask

What of accessibility and leveling the playing field?

Right?

Because I used to be convinced that if I wrote and studied and asked and listened enough, I could put the greater world one step closer to entire access to all things for all people. I used to think that was the goal. And I used to claim it an attainable one. And surely a worthy one.

I’ve written here before, I’m certain, that growing up feels like hope draining from my bones; my hope for a brighter and more equal world, specifically, and my place in it, maybe, is slipping from my grip without much of my own opposition anymore.

How prideful! The audacity! To think I’ve got a say at all, about the greater good.

How selfish, too, to wave my white flag and retreat inward.

I cannot stay convinced that I (small little me) can make all the world equal when I have been here almost twenty-five full years and it still looks how it looks out there.

And if I go on convincing myself that world peace (or even peace within another person who is not me) (maybe even peace within a person who is me!) is a worthy cause, I might just exhaust myself and burn out before I ever achieve something more…

small s self-serving.

So what am I to do, then? Who are the humanitarians? Who are the seekers?

I’m too old to think I can change tomorrow’s world and too young to recognize how it’s changing faster than ever before.

How can I spin my hopelessness into something meaningful? Is it possible? What if none of us reach a happy end? What if that’s not the point?

I wrote once that some poems are not meant for my ears — I remember exactly the leopard who inspired this line; she did not want to be found. And we never found her.

Maybe because not all movies are meant for all people not all sights are yours to be had you are not

Entitled

To any sight or sound or smell or touch or taste or idea or feeling at all

What will you do when you find out that none of it yours? That each of us merely borrows the skin in which we walk, inhabits only temporarily the space between our two ears, choosing to call it consciousness or something different, maybe.

More importantly, maybe, than

What will you do

Is

How will you come to know?

What tragedy or joy will shake you so far from your solid ground, wrestle you away from some singular dream, that you blink your lids and exclaim,

“Oh! None of it is mine!”

Will it be when the lady with the blue hair at the yoga studio accosts you because $30 for a drop-in is ridiculous and the price of eggs is so high these days so how dare you!

Or will it be when you see jagged mountains and their paths covered in snow?

Maybe it will be when you retell the story of the first meeting you’re convinced was love at first sight. But then you head to your room and question whether it’s the telling of the story or the story itself or the actual truth of the matter that is truly true love. And then you question whether that even exists at all.

You never know, though. It could sneak up on you — like that time you read in some gray speech bubble about your hero’s infidelities. Kind of like when you read about similar transgressions on paper, a transcription in a loved one’s shaky hand.

Maybe it will be beachside at night with singing strangers, feeling at home oceans from the land that raised you.

Maybe it will be the scent of one Marlboro Gold as soon as it’s lit and not for a moment longer than just that moment.

Fleeting,

These things are.

These rare awarenesses of our own insignificance.

People say it happens when they first lock eyes with their child.

People say it happens when they jump out of planes or surf big waves.

People say it happens in the little moments, too; just snuggled up and watching some show they don’t even know which one it doesn’t matter as long as it smells like soap.

Until You Know Better

One last croissant!

Run if it will save your life. Hide if it will make things manageable.

Bite-size pieces will do.

Great Artists Steal

“None of us beat the race, at the end of it all. I’m just trying to run it well.” Something like that…. Is it a futile effort? Maintaining my health?

“Heading South” on repeat again!