Big Purpose.

Between Liverpool St. station and my place of work, there is a man selling the Big Issue. He is there every morning and he is difficult to ignore. 

He is an older gentleman; in his mid-fifties, I guess. And I assume he is from Eastern Europe, based on his accent. He looks a lot like the actor Charles Bronson I think, with bright blue eyes and a faintly ashen complexion.

Each day he stands on the corner and wishes every passer by a good day; “Good morning, have a nice day”, he announces, with a thumbs up and a smile that reveals a gold tooth. He is committed to this simple act with a dedication that verges on relentless. That is not to say that he is in any way a nuisance — quite the contrary — rather, he appears to be totally tireless in his daily crusade against bad mornings and unpleasant days. 

I like this guy. He seems to have found meaning and purpose in such a simple deed, in spite of his particular circumstances. I can only speculate on the details of his life, but I assume he has endured tough times to get here; impoverished times that may wear a person down to a nub of negativity and despair. Yet here he is every day, posted resolutely on the corner of Middlesex St. and Bishopsgate, stout and sturdy amongst the tide of frenetic commuters, selling his magazine and wishing everybody a good day.

Grandiosity is no prerequisite of purpose. Purpose can be so simple, perfectly mundane, even seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things. One’s purpose does not have to be some legendary life long pursuit that wildly alters the course of history for centuries to come — as epic as that may be. Purpose is nurturing a houseplant, clearing the street of litter, or spreading a smidgen of joy and gratitude to the dreary faces of piss angry commuters. Such acts have simple yet profound effects on ourselves and the world around us. Purpose rouses us in the morning and propels us through the week. It anchors us in today’s turbulent seas. It provides us with a pinch of meaning to justify the day’s labours and sorrows. 

Many walk past this man with headphones in, eyes glued to the horizon or their phones, rushing to get away from this good morning as quickly as possible, unto the breach of their nice day. I attempt to meet him with a cheery “good morning”; yet when I search for them, his eyes do not meet mine and he says nothing more to me. He simply continues on, wishing the next deluge of bodies a good morning, a nice day. It seems to work for him.

I will lament the day that he is not there. For whilst the world will keep on turning and life will continue at its usual pace, he will no longer be a part of it, and his absence will certainly be noticed.

Losing Shit.

Three months ago, I lost my bank card. I searched the entire house for it. I emptied draws, turned out pockets, flipped sofa cushions; nothing. So I emptied more draws, turned out the other pockets, double flipped the same sofa cushions; still no bank card. Frown lines deepening, hair growing thin, I sucked my teeth and scratched my arse in a state of total bemusement. Standing there, lost in the abyss, afloat in the mess of myriad possible resting places, time steadily slipped away. Hours turned to days turned to weeks as the bank card became but a distant, dusty memory. Today, three months later, I found my bank card. It was under a sombrero on top of the fridge; I don’t remember putting it there.

An age could have been spent searching and at no point would it have crossed my mind to check under the sombrero on top of the fridge. Hours upon hours of waking life squandered, precious moments of a fleeting existence frivoled away on a fruitless task, ferreting for what cannot be found. By death, how much time will have already been wasted in the sterile search for missing articles, for that which could never be found by way of that strained pursuit?

Things often lie in wait in unlikely places, only to be discovered when least expected, to surprise and delight in time. Let go of the search for the particular and open up to the possibilities of discovery. Once the blinkers of expectancy are cast aside, unforeseen pleasures may present themselves freely and openly. Save frustration, conserve energy, spare yourself the time of frenetic searching and afford serendipity its grace. Life is found in the rolls of the dice, the collisions of chance, under the sombrero on top of the fridge.

Find the original print online here!

Picture credit.