Be inspired

I had this friend once and I don't know what happened to her. I am assuming that she is still on the planet, but I have no way of knowing. Even with technology, I cannot find her. Maybe someday I will, but for now, I will continue to imagine her as I remember her, from one single picture that she sent me in a letter when we were about 10 or 11 years old. I never met Bella Sankar in person. I never even spoke to her, never knew what her voice sounded like or how she laughed or how she carried herself, but, to this day, I still consider her a friend, a rather irreplaceable one.

In the fifth grade, at Victor School, in Carol Holdsworth's (still have a Christmas card that she sent me in my scrapbook because I LOVED her)class, we were assigned a writing project in which we'd be given a "pen pal" from another country. Excited did not begin to cover how I felt about the idea of sharing ideas with someone from some exotic place outside of Torrance or even California. The geography was just too big to imagine... and, I was not disappointed. Bella wrote to me from Trinidad and Tobago. She was 11 the first time she wrote and I was 10 and for me, reading that letter was like the Christmas morning when you are hunting for gifts and shredding them and throwing paper and then, out of the corner of your eye, you see a small box tucked back behind the tree and when you grab it, it has your name on it. Well, that's how I felt as I opened it up and made a new friend. The assignment was a one time letter, introducing ourselves, our culture and a little about our way of life. Most of the kids in my class found some very interesting facts about distant places and people and these were shared with all of the class. It was a great project; one that I will treasure forever. Some time, I'd like to see Carol Holdsworth again and tell her that Bella and I kept writing, well into our late teens. The last letter that I have from her was dated 1986. I was seventeen and she, eighteen. I wrote to her about a month after receiving it and the letter came back. I tried to send it again, but to no avail and, being seventeen, I figured that she moved or something happened and I had no alternate means of getting a hold of her. I like to think that it was the process that deterred the letter and not anything that happened to her. Being seventeen and self-centered too, I kind of forgot the whole thing until about ten years later. I thought about her, I still do and I know that one day, we'll meet. One day, we'll fill in all of the blanks and there will be a renewed friendship that began long ago in a classroom of all places. One day, our children will meet and exchange ideas and hugs and one day, that chapter will resolve itself and close on its own. The idea of Bella and her friendship inspire me; the idea that an accidental meeting can change you forever.

I was thinking today about how inspiration comes in the most obvious forms: worship, art, music, friendships, love but it can surprisingly come in the smallest, sometimes most menial forms and, from where you least expect it. Those are the forms and the moments that matter and those are the ones that change you forever. The simple act of opening a door for a stranger or saying hello to someone who works at the corner store or going out of your way to smile at someone who treats you with disdain for no apparant reason. It's hard to do sometimes, when you're having a bad day, when you're out of money, when your kids are sick or driving you crazy, sometimes you don't want to smile at a stranger, you want to look down at the ground and pretend like no one else is there. But that's the moment that begs us to be inspired; that reminds us that there might not be a twenty minutes from now or a tomorrow or a next year. So, maybe just for a second, we sigh and lift our heads up and maybe even say hello to that guy who always seems to be buying coffee when we are. Is that just a coincidence? Or, is he supposed to become a part of my life in some way, just like Bella.

Inspiration leads us to act benevolently. It leads us to inspire others and it is in this way that I am drawn to people, all people albeit in a good way or in a bad way. But I allow myself to be affected by their presence: the teller at the bank giving my kid a lollipop, the fireman who I went to high school with waving at me as I drive past him working on the street, the woman in the minivan who flips me off on the 110 for cutting in front of her to get to the carpool lane. Because I let them all affect me, I let them change me in some way, let their story, however brief, become a part of my story; of how I live, of how I perceive things, of how I want the world to be. When we open ourselves up to the pain and the joy and the sorrow and the hurt of others, we allow their moments and their stories to intertwine with ours creating this huge patchwork quilt of life experience. If we don't, then we close ourselves off and we tend to stay in this little box that doesn't allow for growth and creativity and change.

Today is Tuesday; Trash truck day. From wherever he is, the maniac can hear the sound that the truck makes as it pulls down the street and he freezes, listening and then he screams "Trash Truck" and then he runs to the front door. Today he was in the bathtub and I hadn't locked the front door. Turning as he streaked by, I bolted after him, his pants in hand and I caught him on the porch, telling him that he had to put his pants on before he could, as he does EVERY Tuesday morning, chase the truck down the street. As soon as he's semi dressed, he bolts but today, the truck stops and the driver gets out and hands him a mini trash truck which prompts him to say "Thank You" and which in turn, makes the driver smile. Later, on the return trip home, I open the box and hand him the truck and he stops, staring down at the little plastic truck and his eyes get very big and he holds it as if it is the one toy that he's been searching for all his life and he looks at me and goes, "Whoa" his mouth lingering on the "O" shape for longer than one might expect and then he says "Cool" which makes me laugh. And for the rest of the walk home, he grips that truck and for the rest of the day takes it with us everywhere, rolling it, talking to it, hugging it. It's his new best friend. And all it took was a moment when that driver decided to bring that truck for him or to grab one extra one just in case that naked kid came streaking out of that house, chasing him down. And that one moment created a lasting memory for my kid, maybe not forever, but for long enough.

Forgiveness, hugs, toaster waffles, AIDS Project Los Angeles, God, saying "thank you," students, Paul Newman, Doctors, the ocean, warm baths, generosity, birthdays, cures, books, tattoos, homeruns, romance, music, trees, snow, Calvin and Hobbes, bartenders, french fries, airplanes, nurses, teachers, playdough, the color yellow, roly poly bugs, backhoes, fuzzy socks with toe heaters, travel, orgasms, cupcakes, coffee, prayers, Elmo, family trees, chocolate, Elvis Presley tunes, cures, friendships, careers, Mr. Rogers, tulips, bowling, soccer season, leather jackets, recliners, garage sales, clean sheets, being on time, education, riding the ferris wheel, petting zoos, angels, fireplaces with roaring fires, elbow grease, yoga, love letters, humility, loss, unity, grace, dignity, pride, honor, imagination, respect, equality, innovation, redemption, love...you... just a few things that inspire me.

AIDS marathon says, "Run inspired and the world will change beneath your feet." Imagine what would change if you lived that way. See you soon Bella...