The Whites of Their Eyes

The incessant chatter of my mind goes to never-ending lengths. Are you hard on yourself? Are you coasting through life? I thought this to myself as I lay in the bed of my downtown loft. I’m spiraling and seething with wrath that which the planet has not known. I don’t know that I detest more the 3 am chirping of a cricket trapped in my skylight or my 7 am job filled with the high shrills of suburban yoga moms. If only I could get a grip, or a hold, or into the swing of things. I want sweet sleep. I wish that I could stop trying so hard; to sleep or to be. This being has tunneled through countless adversities and iterations of humanity. People that dare not apply themselves to an ever-demanding society. My existential crisis was all-consuming until I happened upon a little black book.

I know, right? The anti-hero groans and moans until the discovery of some life-altering mystery. Rest assured that I have not lost my air of cynicism. Maybe the black book is a catalyst for acting in my own best interests. No, I am not some newly found upbeat persona with sun rays beaming out my ass. In actuality, I have gained a new perspective on my value and role in society—chaotic neutral. I’m not talking about lighting up the town or painting it red—merely genuine and authentic self-expression. Acknowledging my thoughts and where they stem from without passing judgment. I mean, come on, everyone else is doing it. Why add the element of self-depreciation when I could have another criticize me.

Have you ever unloaded more than a necessary amount of personal information onto a total stranger? Sometimes an interaction like that can be a saving grace. At least that's what my best friend tells me, but how about us folk who aren’t so forthcoming? It’s likely we seek others who have shared beliefs or observe the world through a broad scope of inclusivity. How do we navigate the masses of ignorance to find that one jewel lost in the sea? Is it chance? It couldn’t be fate. Could it?

I’m not much for the romantic strings that draw us toward our destiny or a stickler for uncanny coincidences, but sometimes the walk of life gets strange.

It was like any day on the subway. Get on, get off. The blur of faces channeling the same lowly energy of apathy. Get on, get off. “You have arrived.” I typically stand because the instant I take a load off, I can expect a sure decline in my motivation to tackle the day. Where did I change the routine of my grind to happen upon such a find? There was my usual cup of joe in hand and my cap in the other, and there it was—the little black book, lying uncharacteristically on the commercial nylon-upholstered seating, practically beckoning me to pop a squat next to it to savor a new moment of breath. Was I feeling tense? Was the air tranquil?

I opened the leather booklet, and a brass key fell out. After flipping through the stark white pages, I thought nothing of its content. Only the forlorn whimsy of an independent writer annotating the depths of the heart and enigma of the mind. If it was nothing special, why did I claim this book as my own? The sentiment was nice, but I very much like to keep my possessions to a minimum in terms of practicality and usefulness. Why did I choose to lug this token with me; into my sanctuary of clear air and fine lines?

I was unaware that I was missing a part of myself. Someone that was always there. Patiently waiting, in silence. Humankind neglects to uphold the virtue of silence. We are Anthropos that hit the ground running and never take a moment for pause.

What I mean by silence is the practice of patience and understanding. Too often are we filling the space of dead-air with our voices. We should take the time to stop and listen before forming a knee-jerk response to our peers' objectivity. We each have our own opinions to share with the world, but sometimes we need to pull the zipper shut and take it in. Take in the joy of receiving another person’s outlook. We could sincerely find joy in being the ones with open ears to forge new bonds. In doing so, learn more about who we are as individuals and the identity we seek. We are reflections of one another—the best and worst parts of humanity.

Humankind, ugh, it is not a lost cause. Just because all good things come to an end does not justify accelerating the process of termination. We get what we deserve. No need to toil in self-loathing and pessimism if we step out of our path. “Follow your star.” This little black book is someone’s star. A small but mighty seed that I unknowingly allowed to take root in my hardened hearts and mind. I was on my guard and refused to make myself vulnerable to external variables. Life is an experiment, and you are the control. I see what this author sees. They poetically composed the fleeting thoughts of the human experience. What lies below the threshold is the impending fear of loneliness and disconnect. We manifest this foreboding in the material faster than we can recognize it. I am not the best communicator. I much prefer to keep my vulnerability sealed shut. How long can that habit serve me? In doing so, I make it difficult to be emotionally available for others. Let’s face it; humans can accomplish nothing without the involvement of other lives. The best I can offer is to receive people’s best attempts to connect with me. I can make a more significant effort to be soft and open. So I will do just that.

What I wholeheartedly reaped from this journey was the death of my ego or superiority complex. I may never get to meet the writer of the little black book. I imagine they enjoy creating mystery in the world. I should take comfort in knowing that I cannot have the answers to every question I seek. So when I discovered an address scrawled in the back cover of the book, I urgently sought out the answer to my question. It led me to a PO Box. I wish I could say that whoever orchestrated this little hunt intended to be heard and understood. That planting 20,000 dollars in an untraceable PO Box was a fond gesture to pay it forward. That the recipient would be of goodwill, but I don’t believe in coincidences.

"Do not fire until you see the whites of their eyes."

-Colonel William Prescott