I traveled to NYC for a work-related workshop this past weekend. I’ve been there before with the boys, and also with Gerry, but this was my first time in the Big Apple by myself. After class dismissed on Saturday, I spent hours walking all over the city, watching the HONY.
I chattered with a squirrel who’d climbed onto my shoulder while I took a break on a bench in City Hall park. (He fled when I tried to snap our selfie.)
I watched a man propel himself on wheeled skis thru Seaport Market:
And then I saw a bro at Federal Hall angle his cell phone directly at the ass of the woman in front of him. It didn’t matter that her pants were practically painted on. Or that her young body was “perfectly” proportioned. Or that she would never be the wiser.
He had no fucking right.
I felt the fury of a protective mama bear who’s witnessing an attack on one of her cubs. I raged for friends who’ve been subjected to catcalls. I was angry on behalf of all the women who don’t have someone to stand up for them, or with them, or are just too broken down to stand up again.
I cut thru the crowd to reach him in a few long strides, aimed my mental diatribe, and grabbed for his phone.
But then I stopped short.
He was taking a selfie. (With a statue of George Washington looming over him in the background.)
Sometimes a scary “Stormtrooper” is just a goofball in a costume.
Sometimes an “asshole” is just a judgey story in our heads.
Grateful for the reminder to always check my stories. Or as Byron Katie likes to ask: “Do I know this to be true?”
I’ll try to sift thru my own stories more gently today.