Your Fear is a Gift

Once again, I'm on the cusp of another move. You’d think after 7 (yes, 7) moves in less than 5 years and a cross-country road trip and back, I’d be used to this sort of thing. I’ll only be moving a couple miles down the road this time, but there’s always a degree of uncertainty…

Until this evening, I was excited about it. Actually, I’m still very much excited.

For what? I don’t know. I think that’s what keeps me excited: the unknown.

It’s tough to recall a feeling, yet tonight, I remembered what it felt like to be here in this neighborhood for the first time. I left a bar having just watched my favorite hockey squadron get demolished by some guys wearing red claiming to be BLACK hawks, but whatever…and on the walk home, I noticed a street that I’d walked past literally every day since I’ve lived here, yet never bothered to venture onto.

So I veered right. It wasn’t a dark, dank alley, but it was…strange to say the least. I paused several times because I knew I had seen all of these places before, from the front. They had that same pre-packaged look that most hipster trust-fund baby paradises do, but yet they looked so different. They looked so…new to me.

And that’s when it hit me that I’m moving, and though I’ve only been here for 8 months, I’m really going to miss this neighborhood. I’m very hesitant to leave. I have my coffee shop. My grocery store. My bar(s). Restaurants. Open mic nights. Friends. Memories. And, as I found out tonight, many places I still haven't seen.

I’ve almost grown so secure here that I don’t want to leave the safety of my “comfort zone” once again. Should I? I’ve also picked up some new work, nothing that’s guaranteed, of course. Is that going to work out? If it doesn’t what do I do then?

I don’t know what’s going to happen. No one knows. Some might think that because of some of the things I’ve done, I’d be fearless. That’s just not the case. I’ll admit that though this isn't the same kind of unknown feeling of a cross-country road trip or even an out-of-state move, I’m still very much afraid.

But one of my friends once quipped that we should do things that scare us often, and he was right…

Littering and...

...trying to change the world.

I promise this picture will make sense if you read on...

It was a bright sunny afternoon in Philadelphia. Dare I say, it was a PERFECT Autumn day. I had just left work and had gotten into my car to go to my friend's place for music, dinner, beverages, conversation, world domination, whatever...

I was about to leave my parking spot, but there was a car coming the opposite direction on one of the several narrow streets near my apartment. So I waited. As it approached, I saw a bright orange object being ejected from the driver's side. The driver, clad in sunglasses in what appeared to be an Audi or a BMW, nonchalantly passed by shortly thereafter, casually puffing a cigarette as he drove on.

Knowing full well that he had just thrown trash out of his car, I put the car in park, got out and picked up what turned out to be a bag from a place known as Eye Chic. Of course, I was annoyed, not just because I was picking up trash, but more so because THERE'S A FUCKING TRASH CAN ON JUST ABOUT EVERY CORNER IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD (expletive necessary).

On top of that, it wasn't dry trash...there was a styrofoam cup inside the bag with the fresh remnants of some obviously poor quality cheese fries. Though only a few seconds old, the smell was atrocious. I almost didn't want it in my car, but I entertained these grandiose notions of tracking down the driver and throwing it back into his open window, so I picked it up and drove off.

Needless to say, that didn't happen. That's probably for the better anyway. I pulled over before I got on the highway and threw it away. I don't want to be all high and mighty, because that trash can could very easily have been toppled over by a gust of wind a minute later, but I'll rest easily knowing that I tried to do the right thing.

Before I threw it out, I looked through the rest of the trash in the bag. Y'know...I had gone that far, I figured I might as well dive in to investigate, right? What I found was an empty box from a pair of sunglasses (probably the ones the driver was wearing) and the receipt, pictured above.

Again, my mind started thinking grand things of how to "stick it to 'em" or something...but then after I thought about going back to the store to ask for a phone number or an e-mail address to contact the litterbug, I realized it would be futile in the long run. Pick your battles, right?

So, Mr. Preny, or P. Peny, or whatever that name is, transaction number 22169 who paid $325.00 for your pair of sunglasses, enjoy them. I know what you did. You know what you did. Rather than trying to hold you accountable, I'll just keep picking up the trash, hoping you'll make a better choice next time.

And now, I'm going to get off my high horse. There's more work to be done...