2001-10-06 - 2:20 p.m.

But has this been the sum of my life this summer? This manufactured journey, this self-reflexive illusion? There�s been so much more, so many quiet struggles and triumphs, so many small moments of inexpressible joy.

The morning train rides to Evanston, staring out the window and wondering what�s going on inside those homes. Sitting on the platform and staring out at my neighborhood as it wakes up, some scurrying to work, others shooting the breeze outside the convenience store doorway. Sitting on the train, reading a newspaper or book and wishing the ride would never end, wishing each moment would stretch out for an eternity, trying to enjoy each moment before work as much as possible. The walk from the train to the office � just a few blocks, past a golf course, a few stores, and over a quiet green river with tufts of wildflowers reaching up to the pavement on either side.

The fleeting glimpse of that river as I pass overhead offers a moment of solace to my world, an isolated patch of undisturbed nature in a life of concrete and computers. It reminds me that beauty still exists, that whatever my mood is at that moment, the world still has beauty and for that reason life is worth living. We must be awake to those reminders, the infinity of chances we face and decisions we make each day, to smile at a stranger, to accept your situation at any given moment and choose to be happy in spite of or because of it.

I�ve taken to eating my lunch outside these days. I didn�t do it until one day I saw Ben, the free spirit office manager, reading a biography of the Who as he ate a sandwich from the steps of the building. It took that one other person doing it, someone to set the precedent that yes, it is okay to sit outside as you eat your lunch. So I started eating on the steps, and it was the happiest twenty minutes of my day.

Then one day I saw a group of employees eating a pizza on the grass beside the steps. I had looked longingly at the grass a few times from my vantage on the steps, wishing I could sit down there but too sheepish to be the one to break the unspoken cultural norm. But one day late in the summer, when I wasn�t the new guy anymore, I descended into the grass. And there I had even greater moments of bliss. It didn�t matter how boring my work was that week, or where I was headed in life. It didn�t matter that civilization had swallowed up every other patch of nature in every direction. This patch was mine, this moment was mine, and the choice to enjoy it was mine. The grass was soft, the air warm, and I had nothing to do for the next twenty minutes but read my book and eat by sandwich. I found myself laughing aloud and smiling knowingly at the people who walked past on the sidewalk. And when my twenty minutes was up, my smile stayed on. It disappeared for a while but it was still there, because I knew perfection was just waiting to be discovered at every turn.

Those moments of wonder and satisfaction at the overall beauty of life crop up just as frequently as the nagging doubts. Something inside me keeps me from forgetting that life is good, that I can choose happiness just as I can let myself get down. I just need to keep my mind alert and let the sun in every chance I get.

Late one weekend afternoon, I go for a walk toward the park. I am getting used to the idea of the summer coming to an end; I don�t want it to happen but I am learning to accept it. I sit down in the grass, lean back and absorb the sun, scribble in my journal one of my little stream-of-consciousness motivational messages to myself:

You have to change yourself before you can change the world. Changing the world will not change you. You are not perfect. You are a flawed being who strives to learn, who strives to cherish his world, who struggles to join the world in the eternal dance, who struggles to love. Who struggles to make life meaningful, who strives to be reverent to the world. To revere this world, this patch of grass. To revere each day as a new blessing. A blessing from god? Who knows. A blessing from whatever caused all these things to be here. To feel the sun upon our faces, the warming sun of enlightenment; absurd enlightenment, giggling like a fool at the foolishness of the world. To see that the sky may come cracking down on you tomorrow but today is today and it will never come again.

And then I smile and sigh, close my book and move on.

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