There was a rooster in the road tonight. Just walking along with such confidence against traffic.
I was in an Uber and he slowed the car so I could get a look, so we both could get a laugh.
It's been a long week. A long and very difficult week of taking on more responsibilities at work. I tend to be a perfectionist when it comes to working hard. When I don't meet my own standards, I lose grip on the truth of the matter.
There was no making it to the car fast enough come 6:30 this evening. I put my sunglasses on before my tears could be spotted. My friend told me to hold it together. Not here. But that isn't how I work.
I once heard someone say that the most private place to cry is in a crowded space.
The parking garage isn't crowded with people, so I wished so much for a busy city street, like New York at rush hour with business men and women all afoot. I wanted to get lost in some other person's chaos.
The driver suggested that the rooster had escaped from a restaurant. It was running away. A woman walking down the sidewalk spotted the bird and quickly opened someone's front gate so that it might go to safety, yet it kept going. Stopping only once or twice to look up at the cars.
The rooster is not a fucking metaphor for my life -- for the dire need for perseverance, for going against the grain no matter what, or for going to one's own beat.
But it was enough to make me laugh and crack the ice I've been lying on for some time now.
I began to laugh, and then I began to cry.
First with quiet reserve amongst new company,
and then all at once into my own chaos,
acknowledging that I am so human, and so flawed, and so not perfect, but striving.
And that must account for the best sort of success out there, right?
Here is to every rooster running free in Los Angeles tonight -- saying fuck it to the safe fences, and reminding people to laugh.