"I never do anything for myself." She sighs deeply, flicking her perfectly shop-French-tipped-manicured fingers through her six-hundred-dollar hair extensions.
"You know? Like it's always go go go, and never a minute for me."
"That's rough." I say, snatching a glance at her from over the edge of my coffee.
"Ugh, you know I don't know what I'm gonna do." She tops up her wine from the half empty bottle of Chardonnay.
We have been sitting here for the last two hours, conversation only interrupted by the tinkle of incoming texts and the pause while the tac-tac-tac of the response is hammered out.
"We could go for a walk." I suggest.
"Oh I'm just so tired, like you have no idea, so like, today, I had to go get my nails fixed, because you know, those nail people are just so unprofessional. So I'm sitting there, and I have to tell her three times my pinky is crooked! Finally, I had to tell her I just wouldn't pay, and I mean, I could go somewhere else! And since I'm like, a regular, that would be good business they are losing!"
I curl my own broken and jagged nails inwards, suddenly aware of the paint spatter and Clay across the tips.
"I just don't know how you do it." She carries on. "You just do the stuff you want to all the time."
"Not all the time." I answer, trying not to notice the glaring difference between my ragged, stained jogging pants and her perfectly crisp designer jeans.
"But you're always so content, and I'm just exhausted. I mean, if I don't unwind with my wine at the end of the day I'm just a wreck!"
I'm not sure what to say.
In the silence that stretches between us, I come to realize that as much as I'd like to get my hair and nails done weekly, have a hot tub to lounge in while sipping my imported wine, be exhausted from doing nothing but pamper myself every day, complain about being broke with a couple thousand in my bank account... I actually am very lucky. I'm blessed.
Since I see these things as exquisite treats, they are sacred and blessed events.
I stretch my work hands out and scratch my tangled, undyed hair. In an hour, when I climb into my second-hand car and drive to my where-the-poor-live home, I will count my blessings and find that my cup runneth over. When I crawl into my comfortable bed, I will begin to write a letter to someone who has nothing but bars and time.
Once, I would never have considered writing to someone in prison. When I started to, I thought I was doing them the favour. I was extending compassion, sharing a burden, being an ear or shoulder to listen and lean. It didn't take long at all to realize that I had it totally wrong. It was me who was learning, growing, leaning and expanding. There are lessons I have learned both in triumph and in sorrow while sharing my time and life with the prisoners I correspond with. These are gifts from an unexpected source.
"When I look around this cage, these four walls, all I can see is the past that brought me here. But when I think of the coffin I could be looking at, I say thank you bars. This is both my shame and my salvation." -excerpt from a prisoners letter
I have friends and acquaintances from all walks of life. From the grass is always greener to the sky is falling, from the cup is halfway full to the going-to-the-garden-to-eat-worms sort. There are those who have cast me out of their lives with and without reason. There are those I have chosen to distance myself from with and without reason. The lesson I am learning from all of this is we are all the same.
Perhaps it's not what we have that matters, but how we see what we have. From someone who has everything money can buy, to someone who gets by, to someone who has nothing but remorse and shame....we are all the same. The person who can appreciate everything while having nothing is as equally blessed as the person who appreciates nothing while having everything.
Perhaps then, the blessing is not the having, but the knowing. The gifts that all these people can give is the unexpected gift of being, it's up to us whether we accept it or not.
