Day One Hundred and Seventy Seven - The Healthiest Thing

I saw a woman. She was crossing the street. She wasn't obese but she wasn't in shape. I'm not sure how old she is, perhaps mid thirties? Maybe as old as late 40's? She was wearing sweat pants and a shirt for a woman in her early twenties. Not... showing too much. Just the wrong generation. Her hair wasn't done, there was no make up. She was pushing a baby stroller, but there was no baby. It was full of koolaid and a week's worth of banquet frozen dinners for one. No fresh fruits and vegetables. No water. No herbs and spices. No fresh meat.  I know I was staring, but I don't think she noticed. She just walked ahead. And I started to wonder... how did she get there?

What happened to her? No one is born that way. No one is naturally listless. What stole her joy? What made her believe that trying to get up, that moving on, that living this life wasn't worth it anymore? What got her to the point of only doing what she has to in order to survive? I can see her with my own two eyes. Where are her friends? Did they abandon her so they wouldn't be sucked into her despair and apathy? Are they just as gone as she is? What about family? What happened?

In that moment, in that question, I realized something. It isn't about what happened. It's about what didn't happen. 

Just in case you're new, every other Sunday, a group of friends gets together for what has affectionately become known as Sunday Funday Dinner. We cook for each other. See, we all love to cook. But cooking for yourself gets old. Cooking for others does something wonderful for your heart. We eat together (really good food, too, because man my friends can cook), we tell stories, we blow off steam. We laugh so hard we pee a little. For those few hours, we don't take anyone or anything too seriously. We're there, present, in the moment. The world is carefully out of control. We're safe. We're together. And we're sworn to secrecy. 

And it's the healthiest thing I do. It's one of the healthiest things any of us do. Because as long as we have Sunday Funday, as long as we have that group of Sparkly Marshmallows that rally every time, no matter how tired we are (coffee will be brought to you), or how cranky (at which point you will be handed a beer and told to vent and get over it), or how sad or apathetic you feel (a demanding text message will be sent), nothing matters. Because we all want to be there far more than we want to be anywhere else. 

And that's... That's amazing. We have made a place where, in a few hours, the weight of two weeks can just slide right off our backs. We have made a place that constantly changes, the guest list is never the same twice, the food is radically different, the location is often up in the air, and yet always offers the same thing. Rest. Reprieve. We have made a place where it doesn't matter your background (I'm the crazy Christian virgin, there is a manager of a strip club, bouncers from a bar, delivery people from a downtown warehouse, a health care worker, a guy in the air force, and the list goes on), if you're there for Sunday Funday, you're one of us. That's amazing. That's the sort of thing people dream about, that's the sort of thing people want, it's the sort of thing that every church should be. This is exactly the thing that is in the movies and everyone says 'that's not real' but it is. It is. 

We'll never be able to recreate it, after it eventually breaks up. Or maybe it won't, even after us, maybe it'll go on with new people. But for now, for this moment, it's ours. It's amazing. It keeps us sane. It keeps us from apathy. It keeps us from defeat. It keeps us.