All Things Profane and Sacred

On my way to my volunteer gig, I saw a hopscotch grid chalked on the sidewalk. It was surrounded by rainbows, moons, stars, comets and, in a childish scrawl, the words, "Is life good". (I know the period goes inside the quotes, goddammit, but it doesn't here. Trust me.) I thought about what the writer had in mind while chalking that particular phrase. Was it an exclamation, like, "Is life good!" or was it a question, "Is life good?" Did they mean good to me, or good in general, or good for themselves or their generation? I didn't get to the ultimate question, "What is good?" (42! Nope, doesn't work).

AAAANNNYYYYHHHOOOWWWW. I swung my buns up Alberta Street and walked into the worst night I've had at the clinic. It was just long and difficult and double plus unfun. When I left, my eyes were aching and I reeked of failure. Plus I had upended a soda on some poor attorney's desk during a consultation. I felt real professional, and like a real credit to volunteer work.

As I passed the same sidewalk art on the way back home, while I was trying to wipe the unpleasantness of the night from my mind and shoulders, I was in a different frame of mind. The people I talked to, was their life good? Had I made their life any gooder with my bungling?

My life is on the good side these days. I may be in a tight spot financially, but I have my man and my dogs, a home and a job, friends and family. I just wish I wasn't so ineffectual in helping others bring themselves back to good.