I saw him jump on to the subway, making it just in time before the doors closed behind him. He must have been running late (literally) because he had on sneakers and black track pants and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief that he’d made it. He looked, as I observed him standing there, like he was in a hurry.
Dressed in flats and whatever I manage to pick out to wear each morning, deep down I always feel like I’m wearing an invisible track suit, almost subconsciously compelled to make a mad dash to what’s supposed to come next in my life - even when I’m never really quite sure what next is.
He was young with wavy blonde hair and he held an iPod in one hand and a large manilla envelope in the other that was labeled, in scratchy handwriting, "Latest Plans." As I looked at him I wondered what it would be like to be able to carry around all my best intentions in an envelope so that I wouldn’t forget them. We’re making plans all the time, so much so that we don’t even realize it. We have date books and appointment books and scheduled events and hopes for the future even when we should know better by now (shouldn’t we?) that most of the time making plans (thinking we have any real control over what’s going to happen) is absolutely absurd.
He caught me eyeing his envelope bound for some unknown destination, and he held it closer to his chest. I figured it made sense that once you’re able to contain and define the latest plans of your life you’d be smart to put on your running shoes and try to get to where you’re planning on going fast, because we all know (don’t we) that plans are nothing if not subject to change.
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