Kaleidoscope

A daily jogger finds out losing weight is more than shrinking your pant size.

How did they ever come up with the name for Grey? Did they even come up to the color, and say, “hey buddy, for now on your going to be called Grey? Probably not, they probably named him like they name everyone else; willy nilly like a grandmother with an addiction to her label maker. What if Grey would rather be called Sassafras? Sorry buddy, grandma has arthritis and doesn’t give a darn if you like it or not.

For some odd reason this is the uninvited conversation I was having with myself as I was tying my size 13 grey shoes. My mind tends to wander when I am about to go do something I would rather not do, like doing math homework or talking to old geezers. Today was different than usual for my 300-pound self. No, not because I was a fresh graduate, or free from the gladiator’s ring filled with fierce tigers. Today I start to fix myself with alien green bowls of salad and extended, hyperventilating jogs.

            It was not fun at all, at least what the Nike commercials made it out to be. My lungs were engulfed with flames, my legs were having a war with my brain, and my sweat was most certainly not blue like my Gatorade. I feel like the only reason my sweat was kissing my eyes was to let me know what it feels like to have acid dripped into them. Afterward, I felt impressed by my unimpressive distance. Day after day, week after week, the daily chore became the daily release. I would go out, and explore the city, like a teenager without a curfew. I would extend my trips, and change my routes, all so I could be closer to liking myself. At first it was like my body had dementia, but then it slowly gave into the peer pressure. I could tell people liked me more, not by their voice, but their expressions when they saw what I have become. I was no Brad Pitt, but I was close enough to be his awkward cousin.

            Now as I continued in the months to mold myself, I would occasionally see a homeless man on the corner of 53^rd. The man lived out of a box, and was covered in rags. The only way to possibly describe the strange man is to imagine the lovechild between Jackie Chan and your oldest living relative. Go ahead I will wait for the image to stir fry inside of your mind. Now this man to whom I saw on a weekly basis was not your average beggar. The face he wore was not sad like normal god fearing homeless men, rather it was a cheerful. His scheme to earn booze money was also very unusual. He had a sign that said, “free advice.” I know what you are thinking at this moment. I am going to approach this man, and he is going to teach me karate! That would be incredibly awesome, but this is not one of those stories. So quit being a racist, and pay attention.

            So after seeing this man so often I began to ponder his situation. This man has literally nothing to his name, yet has some secret he hasn’t sold to a corporation yet. This is something you see people who have “made it,” not living in the streets of Indianapolis. So one day I approached the wise man, because I was as curious as George. He was sitting with folded legs, much like a relaxing lawn chair. He greeted me with his content grin, and said, “hello my son I have been waiting for you.” Hold the phone, this crazy old man couldn’t even open his eyes all the way, let alone recognize me from a distance. “Listen I don’t know what kind of drugs you have taken, but we have definitely never met before.” I said. “Maybe not in this life. I used to be like you, young and reliant on the world. It was not until I was an older man that I was able to finally let go of it all. We all have this, the voice inside of us that tells us to chase the world. When my village was burned down from a stray cigarette of a passenger, I cursed God. When my parents were robbed and murdered on a trail in Tibet, I cursed my parents. Once I was adopted by the monastery, I realized life is but suffering. Once I realized this I was able to let go. If you dwell on the events that you have no control over, you will always hunger for happiness. I did not destroy my village, I did not murder my parents, but I still felt responsible. An ox, though stronger than man, will break it’s back trying to carry the world. So will you. I remember the first day I saw you. You were much larger than you are now, but you carried more than mass on your shoulders. You may have lost your mass, but you still carry the same grief on your shoulders. You have to let go, this is only a body. You cannot fix yourself, because there is nothing to fix. Be content with yourself.”

            He then waved for me to lean closer. He took his hand, pointed to his chest, and said, “Happiness is internal.” Then he handed me a cardboard tube from a roll of toilet paper. I was stunned for the moment so I just slowly walked away until I was out of sight, like your parents teach you to do when there is a creepy man inside of a windowless van. All of that, just to be given a cardboard tube. I certainly wanted whatever that guy was smoking. When I got home, I simply tossed it on the dining room table. I carried on as I usually did on a Thursday. I finished my homework, I had dinner with my mother, and I returned home to the tube. As I picked it up, I realized that it was much heavier than it should have been. So I looked inside. All this time it had been harboring shards of vibrant glass. Though ugly on the outside, it was the beautiful collaboration of the glass that made it whole. 

Reviews

[KingJoseph]

I must say I really love your writing style! It was very easy to read yet great detail! Wonderful ending and the insight applies to many nowadays, even me who had recently been too sad to function. Thank you for a wonderful reading