I’ve been babysitting some neighbor kids lately, and each night we run through the alleys on our way to karate lessons, pretending that we are ninjas on a secret mission. It has been snowing a fair amount in Chicago this winter, and there is a ubiquitous slick sheet of ice that frosts every sidewalk, road, and alley in Cook county. We’ve been running fast on the ice—as we imagine ninjas would—and I’ve been unashamedly prideful about impressing the hell out of the kids with my ninja ice-running skills.
Yesterday, walking down from the train platform onto the street below, I bit the asphalt hard enough to catch the attention of a dozen people walking near by. Ooooh! Are you alright sir? Ouch man! That looked bad! Are you sure you’re OK?
Of course I was fine, walking away from the scene, doing my best to iron out the limp in my stride, clenching my jaw and trying to keep my swelling knee and elbow from bursting through my clothes. I felt great, and I’ll be damned if I don’t run extra hard tonight through the alleys on our way to the dojo.
This morning, I encountered a street corner that was all busted up showing its insides. The earth was visibly warm, melting any snow that fell upon it, making mud where yesterday there was hard packed dirt and clay. I was wearing my hiking boots, the pair that have summited Storm King, trudged along the bluff shores of Lake Superior, and run past the paper birches and white pine of countless northern Michigan forests. Pausing before the stretch of raw earth, the mind rusty with this sort of scenario, having spent too much time on top of the concrete and asphalt sheets frosting metropolitan Chicago for many miles in every direction. I stepped into the mud. As happy as a clam, the ethical departments of my mind sent a big warm sigh of relief out through my lungs in order to show the rest of my awareness how important that decision was, and how satisfied the older faculties were to see that the offices managing decisions made in the present, still respected, and made decisions with a well-ordered set of priorities.
Slowly stepping through the mud, noting the smell, the sound, the lack of friction and the instability of my steps on its surface, and the beautiful mark making that the silty water made on my boots, I smiled and nearly cried. The city carves out a space in the land that is slowly drained of all its natural attributes, until one day, after many years of hard effort and tireless ambition, a space has been created where the world does not make visible marks on its inhabitants. Paying just a small bit of attention while on the phone with a cup of coffee in your hand, it is possible—quite easy in fact—to walk many blocks through the city without ever scuffing your boots.
