👟 A Strange and Wonderful Morning: Walking Photo Essay

Serendipity signage sermon delivered by New York City

“What greater delight and wonder can there be than to leave the straight lines of personality and deviate into those footpaths that lead beneath brambles and thick tree trunks into the heart of the forest where live those wild beasts, our fellow men?”
—Virginia Woolf, “Street Haunting” (1930)

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✍️ Tuesday, November 7

I’m trying on the big decision today. I wrapped yesterday’s flash of insight around me like a new fall pea coat, settling into the stiff sleeves. I imagined giving myself permission to take a Quiet Sabbatical in the new year, inspired by

Mel Dizon

’s accidental one.

Quiet would mean I don’t stop everything, nor do I make a big deal out of it, but that I stop most things.¹ That I clear space and disrupt myself, as

Leanne Hughes

said.

I am tired of swimming against the tide of my what my business wants to become. I am ready to stop doing the things that aren’t working. I’m not sure precisely what those are yet. Maybe I’ll add back slowly, an elimination diet for creativity.

I no longer obsess over numerical metrics in my business; however, some have begun staring me in the face, demanding attention. After two years of investments in my third book, second podcast, and various programs, sales have become stagnant. Downloads plateaued long ago. Sure, it could be “this economy,” but what if it isn’t?

This was all fresh on my mind as Ryder and I stepped outside to an overcast day, the smell of just-finished morning rain still alive in the streets. He must have picked up on my inquiry: Should I really go through with this, or am I just tired today? Will it kill all the momentum I have worked hard to build these last 12+ years, or is it exactly what I need?

In an uncharacteristic move, he took me on the north loop for our morning walk, which means winding through city streets instead of our typical beeline to the park. Today he cut left, so off we went. In a second aberration from my usual routine, I piped music into my headphones instead of the usual business podcast at 1.7x:

🎵 I feel a change in the weather
I feel a change in me
The days are getting shorter and the birds begin to leave
Even me, yes, yes, y’all
Who has been so long alone
I’m headed home
Headed home

—Josh Ritter’s “Homecoming,” from his 2015 album Sermon on the Rocks

I didn’t know it yet, but the city was about to give me a sermon via serendipity signage.

Its denizens were just waking up and getting to work: blowing leaves, sweeping streets, delivering palettes of baked goods, cleaning playgrounds, waiting by tumbling machines at the laundromat, recycling cans and bottles, walking dogs, taking kids to school, descending subway stairwells for morning commutes, making patrol rounds, emptying dollies into sidewalk cellars.

Bring to mind your own inquiry, and see what kind of insight adventure these photos conjure. Here was mine that day:²

💭 Would taking a Quiet Sabbatical be in the highest good?

Sometimes the answer smacks you in the face, mere moments after you step outside, as you imagine freeing yourself from projects that are no longer working:

When your mind starts looping, your eye catches a bright spot in a pile of paper recycling, reminding you to follow your nose:

You wonder if cereal boxes with upside-down messages adhere to the interpretation rules of reversed tarot cards. Your research tells you the message deserves extra attention, to invert the meaning, and to consider the card’s shadow side.

You ponder what the flipped definition could be, recalling the morning of your fortieth birthday last month when a woman squatted fifteen feet behind you at the park, dropping a deuce in the dried leaves at the corner of a stairwell. Each plop let you know what was happening—no need to turn and look. But right at the end, both of you ignoring impropriety, you did. If you hadn’t, you would have missed the message glittering in bright pink letters on her sweatshirt: FOLLOW YOUR HEART.

Still, sometimes your mind and your status games send you climbing too high, and you realize your ladder is propped up against the wrong wall. Time to reground yourself:

A passerby opens a locked gate, holding it open for you. You walk through the portal, encountering a single fuchsia flower saying it’s okay to go your own way:

As you emerge from the gated area, you prepare to cross the street. A truck idles on the corner and right there in your line of sight, new friend Thomas exhorts you to:

On the other side of the crossing, animals do the same via playground mural, running and flying, maybe from each other. Their grumpy faces make you happy:

Suddenly the maintenance man asks you to leave: no dogs allowed. You comply. On the other side of the playground’s fence, your new direction receives a call:

You wind into a cul-de-sac across the street, where you are surprised by another mural, this time a weathered hot air balloon surrounded by butterflies. Time to fly:

Kitty-corner takes you to a pair of hawks, like the famous red tails of New York City:

Your dad, a lifelong painter, taught you that overcast days make colors more vibrant. You remember this when stumbling upon the next sign, cautioning you to do less:

A morning commuter strides by with a statement tote, reminding you how:

At this point, an hour into your walk, you are further afield than usual. After considering how your photography flâneuring has made you more open to the small details of your surroundings, you come upon a shop that seconds the memo:

Graffiti says when you hit a wall, keep your hopes high—even when they seem out of reach:

After all, with big dreams comes big responsibility. You must protect your energy, even when it’s teetering on the brink:

As you return to the well-worn trails of your neighborhood, you find the remnants of a faux pumpkin patch, reminding you to give thanks for all that you’ve already harvested:

Just when you think you are done collecting signs, you turn the corner toward home only to realize that your inquiry has opened a new box-as-compass, due north:

Back on your street, a construction site offers a word of caution, reminding you not to be overly rigid. Or perhaps to protect yourself from fears of falling shoes.

So you give yourself permission not to have things ironed out yet. Maybe within a month, you will be more sure:

Now you are just a few doors away from your apartment. There’s no place like home, but you’re different now. You have given yourself license to change, while chuckling at the reminder that big transitions can be scary:

❤️

💬 What signs have you encountered lately? Let us know in the comments :)

1. ‘Doh stays! This is a highlight of 2023, a true silver lining to the summer stories. Learning more about the craft of literary nonfiction has become a delightful obsession.

2. 📝 With special thanks to Tosha Silver & John Wilson who inspired this storytelling style.