My Masterpiece

I’ve given some thought to a confession I made over an early dinner yesterday. I’m not as nice as people think I am—or something like that. “I know,” said my dinner companion. Hmm, a moment of Merlot honesty on my part, an equally honest perfect martini moment on his part? I can only speak for myself. In truth, I’m a pretty decent guy. Terribly flawed, yes, but abiding by the so-called golden rule—the ethic of reciprocity—is relatively easy for me. Yes, I have plenty of opinions about myself, and about others.

Another dinner companion told me awhile back that I’m hard on myself, and as a consequence, hard on others. I won’t argue the point. Terribly flawed, yes I am. Do I wish you to be blessed? Do I want you to succeed—to succeed in the kindest, most generous sense of success? You bet! At my expense? No. I don’t want you to do to me what I wouldn’t do to you.

As I was preparing to leave Albuquerque early this morning to return to Santa Fe, the simple things of a morning wrapped a smile around my heart. Just as I hoped, a well-lit, inviting coffee house was situated on the right hand side as I made a left turn on to Central Avenue. Coffee and maple pecan scone in hand, as I exited to the street I realized that I could have used my Frequent Flyer card for bonus points toward a complimentary dessert some time soon. Another day, I thought. I was happy to be heading to the Interstate as daylight kept coming on. I was waiting until I was on the drive north to take my first sip of coffee with half and half.

At a traffic light, a group of early morning joggers from the University of New Mexico—all clad in dark shorts and gray t-shirts, accented with lime-green iridescent belts, dark beanie caps keeping their heads warm in temps hovering in the mid 30s—made their way across the street. Young, vigorous, some smiling as they moved easily across an already-busy intersection. I noticed that the two bringing up the rear were chatting. What a great way to begin the day.

Even when I turned the corner onto the feeder road at I-25, and my cup—resting in the opening in the console, tilted, the unsecured cap giving way and coffee spilling over my jeans and onto the floor mat—“dammit”—I had a great day going. I thought about the big woman with the big red hair who works as a checker at the grocery store I frequent. Because I’ve been the recipient of her bruising attitude toward the customer a few times now, I try to avoid her line. As life will have it at times, though, on Valentine’s Day she was the only choice as I walked toward the checkout stations. I witnessed her anger, frustration—I don’t know the source of this seeming testiness—as an elderly guy struggled with the debit card machine while trying to buy a bouquet of red roses for his valentine. He apologized for being so incompetent, which I guess disarmed her, threw her off balance. “Have a great Valentine’s Day,” she offered, as he walked away. At her instructions, I unloaded my own basket, “Sir, you can go ahead and empty your basket” I felt like a misbehaving child. What have we all done wrong to come under the scorn of this person whose business is customer service?

Yes, as I felt my drenched pant leg and imagined the coffee pooling among the grooves of my floor mat, I nodded to myself. This is going to be a good day. The traffic heading north on I-25 was brisk and intent at this early hour of the day. And the light coming from the east was, for the lack of a better word, breath-taking. I was not in a hurry, and I tried to stay out of the way of all the people who had somewhere to be at some certain time. Or so it seemed. For me, I just wanted to be. And oh my God, what a morning just to be. As I headed north, the light against the mountains and the low-hanging clouds took my breath away. I get to be here. I get to live this. How could I not be smiling? How could I not want everyone to feel just as blessed as I felt right then? If there’s really a way to paint the world with such a feeling, hand me a brush, please. Let me start work on my masterpiece.

My Masterpiece—Santa Fe, New Mexico (February 16, 2010)
R. Harold Hollis