Two weeks ago I Ran Favors for the last time. That Saturday evening, over and over, I declined “offers” to pick up and deliver orders of Chick-Fil-A to far-flung addresses around the city. I can’t do it, I decided, even as my “acceptance rate” dropped alarming in the Favor App. I’m not doing that anymore. Finally an offer popped up that I could accept: I brought a small, reasonable load of groceries to an elderly man who sat at a table on his screened porch, as I arrived, writing longhand on a legal pad. I placed the bags on his door step. “Here you go,” I called out to him. He glanced up briefly, met my eyes, gave a brief wave. What am I doing with my life, I thought, driving away from his house. I pulled into a parking lot and watched the sunset.
My dignity was beginning to suffer. I will stop this madness, I decided, to make room for something new. I want to be writing in my own notebook on my own porch, not spending as much in gas as I’m earning driving my car around mindlessly, endlessly, waiting in lines, opening and closing the door, turning on and off the engine. On and off and on and off and on and off again. What am I going to do with my one wild and precious life? Not this.
At least I will pause this, take time to write about the experience, and see what happens.
my macho bullshit 