On the street tonight I met a woman named Tyla. Came running up to me as I walked out of aikido, waving her arms, telling me she did tai chi once and just like that we knew each other. She said she liked my scarf and for a brief moment I almost crumbled and gave it to her. Not because I think she needed it but because I think I was supposed to give it to her. It felt like hers in that moment, but I didn't do it.
I am meditating more. Attending Buddhist meditation classes. I am trying not to be so angry. I'm trying to shed attachments. I like to think that Tyla saw a kindness in me that I didn't have a few months ago. I also like to think that because of that, I was able to let her in. She has a daughter who is dying of brain cancer. She had scratch-offs in her hand. When she shook my hand, she shook it with her left, grasping lightly.
The scarf was mine again, but it felt heavier. I'll give away the next thing, I thought as I walked away. Philadelphia is the kind of place where opportunities for betterment arise endlessly. But sometimes that's a lie. My home is inconsistent. I've been here long enough to notice when the sidewalks have changed.
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