A Matter of Life

A couple of days ago, I woke up early (at 12 noon) to get ready for my doctor's appointment at my pediatrician's office. My sister called me mid-preparation to ask if I could look up local news and find out why there were policemen standing on fire trucks on or near 280-N off San Francisco. I told her I had no time for shannanigans and went about my business. Due to the fact that I constantly overestimate my ability to get ready in a fast manner, I did not back out of my garage until 1:12 for my 1:30 appointment.

Now, normally fifteen minutes is sufficient to get myself from my house to the doctor's office so I did not initially freak out (especially because I can get from Point A to Point B in about 1/10 the time it takes for me to get ready to go there). I was deciding whether to take 280 or side streets in the interest of planning ahead. I took the side streets and was sorely greeted by police officers on King who blocked off my direct route to good health. Forced to turn right, I had to follow an old man in a Lexus through a residential area that would not end. By the time our line of cars reached Hickey on the other side, we saw that the police had blocked off that street as well.

Annoyed and frustrated, I had to turn back down where I came from. I ignored stop signs because I figured, if police officers are allowed to block off entire streets they must have better things to do than ticket someone who is late due to their selfishness. At around 1:22, I was BACK in my neighborhood, flustered and ready to flip off and/or use my horn at any person who wished to further aggravate me. (I blame that on living in LA, even for only nine months.)

I decided to try my freeway route, only to find that there was traffic from the Daly City exit all the way to the city. By 1:30, I was still on the freeway and calling the office to apologize for my tardiness. (I don't think they are used to patients calling in..) However, I managed to find parking and run to the office not much more than 10 minutes late. And in one piece.

Take a moment to thank Boyz II Men for their song "I Will Get There" and its inspiration to make me think happy thoughts and release negativity into the universe.

Anyway, after my appointment and in an effort to begin my plan of "eating healthier" I drove myself to West Portal to get myself a turkey sandwich from Squat & Gobble. However, it seriously was not my day. The final block of West Portal, the block that houses the Squat & Gobble, was blocked off for still another reason unknown to me. I tried to remain calm as I tried to get back onto West Portal from the other end, then found out that I could not.

I was too mad to go all the way back to park on another block of West Portal, so I got myself lost in the neighborhood before finally getting back on Portola and heading back south. But not before I got myself a "calm-me-down" boba from Irving.

My rational self told me that I could simply go back home and get a sandwich from the deli in my neighborhood. So that is what I did.

I told the girl at the counter "Turkey sandwich on Dutch crunch, no mayo, no onions." This chick WROTE my order down, then told me they were out of Dutch crunch. I settled for wheat, thinking that there are worse things in the world. I paid for my sandwich and drove home to my comfortable chair to devour the thing.

When I opened the package, tell me why there was mayonnaise greeting me. I took one bite and felt my arteries clog up.. I gave up mayonnaise a year ago in an effort to avoid the Freshmen 15, and since then the smell of it makes me queasy.

My bad day all started with that policewoman standing in the street, telling me that she had the authority to interrupt hundreds of lives today simply because that was her "duty."

The bad day almost prevented me from enjoying my night, but I decided not to let it have the satisfaction.


Later on, I found out the cause for the hundreds of police officers all over the area.. The funeral of a San Francisco policeman.

This man lived on my street. This man died in a car crash during a car chase. This man was recognized by a thousand people because his career is considered more prestigious than people whose immediate job description is not government service. This man had streets blocked off for him so that the funeral procession could run smoothly from the Cathedral to Holy Cross Cemetary.

Sure, this man may have been a great man. Sure, this man may have died "serving his people." But what about the THOUSANDS who died on September 11th? What about the THOUSANDS of soldiers who will never return home because they are fighting a war that they may not even believe in?

Every life is valuable. As cliche as that may be, each birth is a significant moment in time. Yes, it is each individual's choice whether or not he or she uses the period between that moment and one's last breath with dignity, care, and purpose. But why does a man receive five minutes of local news time simply because he is a governmental authority figure?

Recently, the mother of one of my oldest and closest friends passed away. She was a family friend, a loving parent, and a woman devoted to our church, to say the least. She was the first person I've ever personally known that I can honestly say deserves to be a cannonized saint. Each person who spoke about her mentioned her patience and the fact that she never once complained. During her ten years battling cancer, she continued to put the needs of others before her own. Her charisma and enthusiasm brightened up any room, and her genuine care continually shined through.

She never received airtime on the news. But I know that no one who knew her will ever forget her. Still, the thought of the possibility of her story ever being lost bothers me.

It got me to thinking of each life that I believe is so special. Everyone strives for greatness. Some achieve it, some choose to place their legacy in their offspring. But, unfortunately, any good that someone does is soon forgotten (unless, of course, you are famous or work for the government).

Now, consider those whose lives were celebrated most greatly after their deaths.. Artists, writers, saints, etc. We still know the works of Monet, Jane Austen, Jesus, and hundreds of others who left their legacy in concrete works of deed and art, written and painted.

And the thing is, you don't even need a miracle.

I used to think that the best way to be successful at life was to be selfish. "If no one else cares about me, I have to care for myself." While that's earned people millions of dollars and infamy, that is definitely not how I want to be remembered.

Each day I should strive to reach out. Each day I want to affect someone else's life in a positive way. I want to become the best version of myself, not the richest version of myself. I want to use who I am and what I stand for to make a change in the world and leave it better than I found it.

Instead of hoping to live the longest, maybe we should hope to complete our mission. It is not the length of the journey, but the success of doing what we as humans aspire to do. Be passionate. Be happy. Be inspirational. And have the most people at your funeral.. Then you could cause chaos on the streets of San Francisco without having to wear a badge.