The other day I was doing some stretching exercises at the gym–ok, health club–and I couldn’t keep my mind on what I was doing. I was aware of some chronic herniated disk issues that accompany me everywhere. I was also lost in thoughts about Hurricane Irma. Life wasn’t as fair as it should be.
Then, after coming out of a “downward-facing dog” yoga pose, I routinely looked around and happened to glance out the large window facing Azeele Street at the corner of South Dale Mabry. There, along a steamy sidewalk near a Starbucks was a person–couldn’t quite make out a gender–pushing a shopping cart filled far beyond capacity with stuff, likely a life’s possessions.
The person pushed the cart past the coffee icon, where a hipster-looking couple with a pedigreed poodle was savoring away in a shaded area. The cart-pusher, in a raggedy ensemble and shoulder-length hair, turned into the parking lot and moved out of sight. That dog, I thought, had a much better life. And my own travails, I also thought, just received a jolt of much-needed perspective.