defining moments, part i

Sometimes the most bizarre experiences seem to become defining moments in my life. Recently I was in Manhattan walking through Central Park near the Harlem Meer when a disheveled, homeless man carrying an large green duffel bag limped past me. To my surprise, the man began singing one of my favorite old R&B songs, “Happy Feelings,” by Maze featuring Frankie Beverly. The sight of this middle-aged man wearing tattered military pants and a dirty blue jacket that had seen better days struck me. Baffled and intrigued, I found myself turning to stare at the man. I admired his ability to sing–with great passion–an upbeat song about happiness when it appeared that his life couldn’t possibly contain anything resembling happiness judging from his obvious physical neglect.

As I watched the man limp past the Conservatory Garden his song turned into a whistle. With great effort, he struggled to throw the heavy duffel bag over his shoulder. Once he had the bag in position he glanced behind him and caught me staring. Breaking into a huge grin, he seemed happy to have found an audience. He began to sing again, louder this time: “Happy feelings in the air, happy feelings everywhere,” as he turned and started back in my direction. Embarrassed, I tried to pretend that I hadn’t been eyeballing the man as I fumbled in my bag pretending to search for my cell phone.

The singing homeless man made his way directly in front of me, placed his bag on the ground and opened it wide enough for me to peer inside. He stopped singing, looked in my eyes and asked, “Do you believe that everyone in this city, or in this world for that matter, influences the next person?” Intrigued and for some reason not the least bit afraid, I looked at the man and, sensing an honesty about him, thought about his question and where he was going with this. “Well, in many ways, yes I do believe that people come into each others lives–whether it’s for a season or a lifetime–and touch each other in untold ways,” I replied.
The man’s smile indicated that he was pleased with my answer. Still, I wondered what this was all about. I stepped back, put my phone to my ear and made a pretend phone call. This would surely put an end to this strange discussion I was engaged in with this strange albeit pleasant man. He bent over and reached into his bag pulling out a small silver box. He placed the box in my right hand. The beautiful, weathered old box had a large sun etched in blue on the front. I stared at the box for a moment and then back at the man who, with his eyes, urged me to open it. Slipping my cell phone back into my purse, I slowly lifted the lid with my left hand. Inside lay a silver sun, a moon and a star. I picked each of them up, examined them and slowly turned them over to see that they were delicately inscribed on the back. Out loud I read the inscriptions. On the sun: “Silence in Not an Option.” On the moon: “Refuse to Stand Still,” and on the star: “The World is Waiting.”

With my mind racing, I struggled to piece this moment together in a way that made sense. The man gathered his bag and lifted it over his shoulder once again. Though my eyes held a million questions, my new friend simply turned leaving me standing there with the silver box and its contents. The man resumed his singing and slowly limped past a group of small children riding their bikes near the pond. For a long time I watched the man as he made his way to the edge of the park. What should I do with the box and the sun, moon and star? Should I catch up to him and return them?

I stood there and thought about it. Though I felt I never adequately answered the man’s question, it slowly dawned on me that I really didn’t need to. His actions and the messages in the box told me that he wasn’t looking for an answer to begin with. And this man, in this park, at this moment in time was there to touch my life and gently nudge me toward the greatness I am destined for. Filled with those happy feelings my friend sang about, I wrapped my fingers around that box and began to walk away. I knew then as I know now that silence is not an option, and I refuse to stand still because the world is indeed waiting.