We went to a play today.
Like all of the arts, I enjoy the insight one can gain from the display of humanities that comes out of plays, music, and artwork. As I writer, I can take these insights and apply them to my own work. It’s how we understand each other better; it’s how we can know ourselves better. The biggest display, however, did not happen in the play but in the parking lot before it.
The closest parking spots were already filled, so we slowly rolled past them to seek out the nearest open spot. People who had arrived before us, made their way from their parked vehicles and crossed in front of us and towards the playhouse. I stopped and allowed them to cross, as courtesy and legality demands. I have no problem with that. I’m in my car, warm and dry. They are outside. The time to wait is not a big issue.
Most cross in a timely manner. Going directly across the lane and getting out of the way of my vehicle as quickly as possible. One couple did not share the others’ haste. Once they noticed that we had stopped to let them pass, they adjusted their angle that double their time in the lane. I watched in disbelieve. I wondered if they were conscious what they were doing. From the look on their face, I believe they knew they had the right of way and they enjoyed it.
I was not harmed in the slightest. But like the play that followed our own parking and trek from the vehicle to the play house, I feel I just watched a display of human existence although it might cause me more questions than answers.
Sometimes that’s just as valuable.