I shouldn't have come here.
I'm sitting at a hightop table along the exposed-brick wall toward the back of the coffee shop. Looking around, I'm realizing the place is maybe, like, 80% full. Weird. I expected it to be packed. Usually there's a line out the door and getting a table is this sort of cut-throat game of overly-polite musical chairs.
Whatever, I only have about an hour or so before they close.
I biked here because thought for sure they'd have AC. Only after I arrived did I discover they don't. Instead, the doors are propped open and that's just definitely not helping anything at all, even the tiniest bit. What was most surprising, though, was the guy playing an electric guitar on a bench near the register.
He's plugged into a personal amp and everything.
Sounds like he's playing a blues-rock version of Santana, though, so he's cool with me. While I'm watching him, I'm mostly trying not to think about how my shirt is still papier-mâchéd to my shoulders. I've got my headphones on but I'm not listening to anything. And I'm suddenly aware that I'm the only person left in the shop. There'd been a mix of people when I got here and I it's not like I've been here that long. How did I not notice the families with the young kids slip out? Or the other folks on their laptops, like me? Even the gaggle of forty-somethings who seemed like Saturday regulars had packed up and shipped out.
Now it's just me and guitar guy.
And if that's the case, he probably thinks he's playing for no one since I'm wearing headphones and looking at my computer.
Shit.
Ok.
So the headphones are off and my laptop's closed. Doing some quick math, I've decided I'll just finish what I was working on later. He's looking down either at the guitar or his feet—whichever it is, he's in his own world for the time being. Reaching across the wooden table-top, I pull my notebook toward me and snag my pen from between the pages. The notes start to drift, and it seems like he's lulling to a stop. Sure enough, he reaches for his mug and I'm able to see the tired lines of his face, draped above his sunken cheeks.
I start clapping sort of gently, but firmly enough to let him know I'm enjoying his music.
When he looks up, his entire face rebounds.
We share a smile, and he launches into "Street Fighting Man" by the Rolling Stones. He doesn't know it, but that was so absolutely the right choice. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a musician. So much so, that my grandfather built a wooden platform in the corner of our basement to serve as a stage where I could practice guitar and pretend I was Keith Richards. I even had a poster on the wall from the Stones' No Security Tour in '99.
Leaning up against the bricks, I'm just sitting there, smiling. Sure, they're closing soon and I'll have to forge my way back out into the heat... but for now, time is on my side.
Yes, it is.
When you feel the tug of the present moment, do you lean in or pull away?
onward.
For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory here. And if you know someone who'd appreciate this, pass it along.