I see you

Ever wonder why it seems like you are the only one who noticed that (fill in the blank  . . ) : pattern of cracks in the sidewalk, mole on your face, thumbprint in the mirror, passersby's limping walk, flight path of the fly tapping against the window, . . .?

So much of life to be noticed.

Noticing a bit of life is the aspiration for this blog.  Looking, seeing, perhaps clearing a path.  It's a work in progress.

I heard an opinion on talk radio today.  The speaker pronounced his definition for the "working class."  If you lost your job and remained unemployed for a year, you'd likely had to "move out of your mortgage".  (Isn't that curious phrasing.  Who wouldn't want to "move out" of a mortgage?  Excuse me, oh no thank you please, I'd rather live forever under the bank's thumb.  Sheesh!)  If you didn't move out, you were middle class.  Oh-kay.

That opinion came on the heels of another radio program where the speaker claimed to be "of the working class" because he worked.  Rah-ight.

Where do they find these guys?

 Why did these opinions matter?  Well, to put it euphemistically, my life is in flux.  I'm of the non-working class, in a state of work interrupted.  And any discussion about it stirs deep uncertainties.

So many people want to tell you what they think (including this blog) about work, about life.  It's utterly wack and crowds out your own conclusions.  Does it matter what other people think?  Need one follow another's path?

Been spending a fair amount of time listening to public radio.  Reading, and thinking.  About my path.  What did I look at?  What did I see?

That crack pattern in the concrete sidewalk can be mesmerizing.  Just watch any 2 year old.  And that thumbprint on the mirror begs four fingers to be whole, or the swipe of a damp cloth to be complete.  Look inward to your heartbeat or your breath.  There are worlds of mysteries.  Keep looking.

My boyfriend and I have a favorite movie memory.  You've probably, inexorably if you are asian, heard it.  From Joy Luck Club, from a mother to her child:  "I see you."

A day after Mother's Day I miss mom.  Come October it will have been five years since I've been truly seen.  Tomorrow is her birthday.