The more I get stressed out, the more I talk to myself. It's disturbing that I don't censor the self-talk, keeping it under wraps in public situations. When I'm stressed, I just am not able to do this well enough.
On my brisk 2-mile walk home from school yesterday, I was arguing with myself about something as I approached a local park where people were playing tennis, jogging around the 0.9 mile loop and walking their dogs. (At this point, I can't remember what I was so intent on convincing myself.) I thought I heard music from So I Married an Axe Murderer playing from one of the houses, and I laughed as I passed it.
The argument inside my head continued.
But the music grew louder, and as I passed the tennis courts, I realized it was coming from the middle of the open below.
In the middle of a grassy knoll stood a lone bag-piper, a middle aged man, playing beautiful music for everyone. He had one static audience member, a woman leaning against a tree who clapped for him--a delicate patter--when he finished a song and ran his fingers through his hair.
It was a magical moment. I felt like I was in Scotland, what with the grass and bagpipe.
Thank God for people who love to share their music. I wish I could.
No comments:
Post a Comment