This morning, I felt serene crossing Lake Pontchartrain to see my yoga therapist in New Orleans. Driving across the low causeway felt like skimming the water. Up ahead, the hazy shapes of downtown skyscrapers rose above the lake’s southern shore.
Shortly after arriving on the south shore, my serenity fled when a driver cut me off as I exited the I-10 cloverleaf. I cursed him out loud.
Downtown, I took the Poydras St. exit and waited behind eight cars for the light to change. A homeless man holding a cardboard sign walked beside the cars as the light turned green behind him. The line of cars moved forward but suddenly stopped when a driver lowered his window and handed the man money. I tossed up my hands and cursed again.
I parked on Magazine St. and walked back to 400 Poydras Tower. I don’t like my therapist’s windowless waiting room, so I sat in the building’s ground floor lobby with its enormous windows and high ceiling.
A guard approached me and said, “Can I help you?” That’s code for “What are you doing here?” I said I was waiting for an appointment at 11:00 on the 19th floor. “All right,” he said and walked away. I marveled at his nerve. Did he think I was homeless?
At 10:45, I walked to the elevators. “Back up, sir, back up!” the guard said behind me. He pointed to a different row of elevators serving floors 19 and above. I thanked him, found the right elevator and rode up to my therapist’s office.
During my session, the therapist said that we allow our perceptions to change when we watch our thoughts and actions dispassionately rather than judging them. After the session, I walked back to my car and headed home across the lake.
That evening, I let the perception of my thoughts and actions change. I understood and forgave the driver who cut me off. I admitted I acted uncharitably toward the homeless man and his benefactor. I realized I probably did appear homeless to the guard because of my clothing—sandals with no socks, unbuttoned fishing shirt over t-shirt, floppy hat, and leather satchel. I resolved to dress better next time and to keep an open heart.
Books, bicycles, and 'bones 
Eric, I am responding in email rather than official comment…This is lovely and something I can relate to. I’m curious what is a “yoga therapist,” but in any case, his comments link directly with those of various Zen teachers whose words I hear regularly at our Zoomed Ithaca sangha meditations. I admire the pared-down simplicity of your style. I still aspire to that, as I do at reaching an open heart.
I had lunch with Jerry Kelley recently and we spoke of our respective memoirs-in-progress and our family histories that undergird them. He’s writing what sounds like a wholly original narrative built around his lifelong obsession with William Blake (!). Mine is more conventional, a half-life memoir focused on my childhood and becoming a journalist — my life before I got married at age 45. I did it for my kids, but TCU Press has expressed interest in publishing it. We’ll see. I might send out the St. Mark’s chapters at some point to what I think of as our 1619 Group, that you instigated.
Sean
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