The Small Life

I'm not afraid to live a small life anymore. Every morning and evening I watch hordes of people on their way to somewhere, human lives melting together and whirling away outside of railroad stations and bus stands and city streets and temple gates. Almost no one knows anyone else around them – there is so much disconnect between people that I can hardly stand it! The crushing weight of it all used to make me want to rush out and talk with everyone. Now the human masses and little me gazing out the bus window at them have a different interaction. Every day I pick one face and mentally follow them home. I try to imagine their lives, the people with whom they have relationships, what they say and how they feel. Then I wonder about my own life. What comes of its little relationships, activities, passions? Is a life lived always on the move, trying new places and interacting with new people necessarily what I want? What about having permanent neighbors? Life has been rich, but does it have to be “big” to be so? A small life can be deep, and all deep lives start small. I'm learning not to be afraid of doing what I know is the right next step: going home.

What are my needs, really? A room to pray in, a chair to read in, a friend to share thoughts with, a garden to dig in, a phone to call my family on, a job that needs me. And trees and mountains around would be a major plus. I'd like to think that I'm that simple.