Monday, June 20, 2016
The Sacred Practice of Messy Generosity
I am one of those. I drive in from the suburbs because this neighborhood feels special to me. There are memories of friendship here and, in a way, my writing career was born in the River Market at a wobbly table set right by folded napkins in a coffee shop on Delaware. So, I keep visiting, sometimes multiple times a week, drinking a flat white and pounding on my keys while the girls spend the day with the grandma or their dad.
On this particular Sunday, I squeezed into a parking spot and then out of my car. Hoisting my laptop bag onto my shoulder, a took the long way to my normal spot at the window of the coffee shop. I have been trying hard these days to pay more attention. As a work-at-home, writer, needing inspiration but finding my face jammed in front of screen working has become a thorn in my side. I need fresh ideas, fresh perspective and while I know it is there I haven't been seeing it lately.
So, I slipped my phone in my purse and looked straight ahead, my eyes searching for whatever the market had to show me. I was looking for a pitch to new a food publication I want to break into, but what I saw was generosity. I watched as a street vendor paused between paying clients to toss a warm hot dog into the hands of a man, telling him to hush up and get lost when he offered payment. I watched a hipster, coffee shop patron stand on the sidewalk and repeatedly offer cigarettes to passersby who repeatedly refused, who probably didn't smoke, until someone stopped and shared a cigarette with him. It was messy generosity, it was imperfect, and it was sacred in it's own way.
I live a very disconnected life. I have found myself struggling to really connect with others outside of my computer screen after spending so much time with toddlers or emailing editors I've never met day after day after day. Seeing that generosity still connects us in this world, even when we seem to live such self-consumed lives most of the time, gave me inspiration--just not in the way I had expected. Instead of my next pitch, I found hope and motivation to move forward with more generosity. Not your run-of-the-mill, cash money generosity, but the same messy generosity seen in foil-wrapped hot dogs and shared cigarettes. I want to push forward to be more giving of my time, attention, and love with less care for how it will perceived or if I am doing it right or if my theology is OK. I don't really care to protect myself from judgement these days, as self preservation simply doesn't fit in a world that seems to be desperately in need of a little generosity lately.