On Tuesday afternoon, as I made my way south on Bay Street, I crossed paths with a toddler. His mom - I'm guessing she was his mom - was just about two metres away. It seemed as though he had been preoccupied with gazing at his reflection in Scotiabank's window. Tourists. When I came upon them, her hand was outstretched, drawing his attention to her. Given how fast I walk, though, I was pretty sure I could pass between them before he made it to her side. I was right. I swished past them, but not before catching the words on his neon-green T-shirt:
"Wake up and be happy."
That got me thinking, "It's really that easy, isn't it"? Dude doesn't have a care in the world, but that's beside the point. Like Randy had said, "Happiness is a choice."
And, speaking of Monk, remember in Mr. Monk and the Birds and the Bees, where Monk, finally getting over the anxiety of having "the talk" with Julie, began speaking from his heart? "All your dreams will come true, but they don't all have to come true this weekend."
It's been a long road (define 'long') between the toddler years and now, but there are still some dreams yet to come true. Hope is a good thing.
I waxed philosophical on the commute home, and kept the outlook mostly positive. Yeah, I was adulting like that.
And, for some strange reason, I spent the rest of the evening at home listening to Joni Mitchell's Both Sides Now.
Turns out, I really don't know clouds - at all.