The Hilarity of Life

On the second day of my period during a marital separation, feeling extra hormonal and mopey, I hopped on a bicycle and passed a scene that could only happen in New York. A scruffy-looking fellow who I probably would have mistaken for homeless except that he was riding an expensive-looking bicycle, was BLASTING Sinead O’Connor’s rendition of “Nothing Compares 2 U,” which—under the circumstances—brought tears to my eyes. I pedaled behind him for a few blocks, listening to the mournful tune and wallowing in my melancholy when the homeless-looking fellow sounded his horn, not the usual “ding” heard on a bicycle’s handlebars but rather, the “squeak” one might otherwise associate with a clown car. I laughed in spite of the tears that had formed at the corners of my eyes.

Sinead wailed, “Tell me baby, where did I go wrong?” 🎶

In between verses, the cyclist honked his clown horn: Squeak, squeak.

I thought about the supervisor at my last internship, who, thinking me too serious, had said: “My wish for you is that you learn to find the hilarity in life.” The clown horn had done it for me: hilarious, and even moreso because in this city, no one batted an eye. Scruffy dude, nice bike, boom box blasting vintage Sinead, and clown horn. Typical Sunday.

I docked my bike at the subway station and descended the stairs to the train platform, where I sat next to a bodybuilder with a tattoo on his right bicep that read, “I must endure the things I cannot change.”

When my train arrived, I stepped into a packed train car that reeked of urine. An infant a few feet away yowled in her stroller while her mother scrolled her smartphone. Meanwhile, Mr. Preachy Tattoo sitting next to me was a clear reminder to try, for now, to endure that which could not be changed.

I am strong enough to get through this.

Squeak, squeak. 😂

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2 comments

  1. Katy

    I love how receptive you are to the messages of the universe. Hang in there. This too shall pass. Know that while we all feel the stress and burdens of what life throws at us, each of our experiences is unique and special to only us. Life’s path is full of lessons, some of which we face as tantruming children bucking and screaming. In the end, each of those experiences sums up our own personal and very special story. I love you my dear. Always will. Big Katy hugs sent through the unending cyberspace. Now back to work! Sigh…

    • That may be the most poetic reply I’ve ever received on this blog. True, too…we are each on our own journey, and it’s not without ups and downs. I love you, too, chica! Look forward to seeing you in December.

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