Signs of Kindredness

Yesterday I woke up at 2am. And I mean really, woke up. I opened my eyes to discover I was alive, more than I had ever been before, a kind of aching awareness of being present smoldering beneath my skin. I felt my heart beating. I felt my blood coursing within my veins. I felt my mind here, in this moment, calm and at peace and memorizing the way of things. It had officially been spring for two hours. I let my soul bloom softly in the nourishing soil of morning, opening it's thirsty petals to the sweet nectar of my one delicious life.

In my need to be early and his tendency to be late, I had an extra twenty minutes to spend doing whatever I pleased. I walked down to the edge of the pier and took from my purse my camera, which I have been taking everywhere lately, which has become as necessary as my journal and pen, which has become just another way I learn to stop and notice details. I captured a few images of the sky.

Walking back towards the restaurant, Ani DiFranco pulsing through my ears and head, I passed a group of women walking in the opposite direction. The one on the end closest to me, the one with the floppy yellow hat and purple sneakers, raised up her hand. I couldn't hear her through my headphones, but watched her mouth move as she said "high five." I gave her one and smiled to discover that as she walked away, her enthusiastic "wooo hooo" was loud enough to sound over Ani's guitar. Girl power. Surely there is no greater happiness than these gentle validations of the existence of kindred spirits.

I got to the restaurant, removed my headphones, listened instead to the bustling melody of the city as I waited. A man passed by on his skateboard, belting out Bon Jovi's "It's My Life" to himself, just because he felt inspired, just because it felt good. I smiled to think that all of us carry this capability to be so carelessly joyful. Another man passed in a black Armani suit sporting a very unsuited black eye. I smiled to think that none of us are as perfect as we'd like to appear. A woman across the street knelt down to help collect the fallen pieces of another woman's dropped purse. I smiled to think that kindness and love are everywhere. What an amazing place, this city, this world, this life.

Over dinner, my little brother and I discussed everything. It was the first conversation we have had, just the two of us, in a very long time. I learned all about his present life. I learned new things about our family history. I learned to see him in a new light, to love him in this powerful way that differed from anything I had ever felt for him before. I learned to forget my obligation to love him as family, and instead fell in love with him as a person, perfectly flawed, stunningly honest, remarkably strong. I listened to his testaments of truth, to how easily he offered them up to me, and was suddenly struck by how deeply grateful I am to him, for him, because of him. We share something between us that I will never have with anyone else, some secret understanding about who we are and where we come from. He is my brother, but also a kindred spirit, and also a hero of mine, and also a dear, dear friend. He is my brother, but he is also one of the universe's eternal reminders of talent and goodness and love. He is also the proof that my faith in the human spirit has not been in vain.

On the train ride home, I thought about the game she and I once played at a concert years ago. We'd take turns picking out a person and giving them a story, a history, a life that had brought them here to this point. It seemed sort of silly at the time, but last night I realized that a part of me is still playing that game, as I search this grand existence for signs of kindredness. Part of me still searches every soul for benevolence. Part of me still searches every stranger for friendship. Aren't we all just searching for ways to connect? Aren't we all just collecting words and images as a means of creating our history? Aren't we all just stories waiting to be told, and shared, and adored?

Aren't we all just learning day by day, morning by morning, how to wake up? And I mean really, wake up. I mean really, how to let our souls open their thirsty petals to the sweet nectar of our one delicious life.