The summer after graduating from
college I spent two months traipsing around
Europe. After five and a half weeks I found myself walking through
London’s
Hyde Park smoking a
Vanille sprinkled with the last of my
Amsterdam treats.
I had a bushy new beard, a
backpack filled with
clementines, and only a couple days left until I had to return home. I had spent the morning by the
Italian fountain contemplating into my
journal about not returning to
The States. I was feeling a little sorry for myself for having a
non-refundable ticket.
So, there I was walking through the park across that huge field where there are chairs set up as though they were facing an
ocean watching the clouds and
hearing the birds and taking in every person walking on the paths around me when I spy a
man in a suit probably only a few years
older than I walking briskly towards me down my path.
That we were
on the same path, or that he was walking
briskly, or in a
suit, or seemed as young as I was not unusual.
But when we came within a few feet of each other he turned his eyes from the ground up to mine and said,
“You’re lucky.”
My mind reeled as I realized he was right.