Wandering Mind

For as long as I could remember, inner peace came in the form of a wandering mind. Each time I was ever sad, angry, doubtful, or unable to face my problems, I would take a walk to find a crowded place to stop and stare. It was there that I found comfort and inner peace, observing and imagining the lives of passersby. I'd often wonder who these people were, the problems they face, and other aspects of their lives.

Much later in life, I came to discover the word SONDER. Which meant "The realization that each passerby has a life, as vivid and complex as yours." And having observed others for so long, I had developed that sense of realization. Suddenly the world wasn't as large, and my problems weren't as bad.

As individuals, we live in a society, adhering to all the same rules and routines. So it's understandable that we all seek to be unique, separating ourselves from the rest of the world. We like to think we're the heroes of our own story, and everyone else is just there to help us progress further.

But when I sit and think with my wandering mind, staring at each passerby, I think of a different possibility. Maybe we're all here to help each other progress, or perhaps we all have the same ending—an incomprehensible one, not yet visible until we all come together. We may all be strangers, but life may connect us in odd ways. That idea has always seemed to make sense to me, even if it may not be the truth. However, the concept in itself helps me move forward, and why till this day, I continue to let my mind wander.

By creating romantic stories of each passerby, I gain insight and an overwhelming sense of hope. As the fictional architect of their lives, I eventually learn to accept my own. There were three significant events in my life, which could've easily broken me if not for my wandering mind. Stepping into this kind of safe space was like an escape, a reprieval from the harsh realities of life.

When I first truly understood the meaning of unrequited love, I was twenty-three years old, having just learned the one I loved, loved someone else. It all started the summer before High School, a confusing time in which self-discovery became intertwined with puberty. My parents had forced me to attend church, a weekly routine I found monotonous. As I sat bored and alone, my eyes wandered to the laughter of a group of girls. I became unexplainably drawn towards the young girl at the epicenter, captured by her polite smile and fragile laugh.

For the next nine aching years, I loved her from afar. I slowly orbited her life, like the romanticized notion that the moon longs to be with the earth. I bettered myself academically, became a social butterfly, and sought to be a better version of myself, all with the theory that I would be worthy of her love one day. And somehow, through chance in the tenth year, our worlds finally collided. I was a part of her life and gotten to see a different side of her, and for a moment, I knew what happiness was. But like everything else in life, nothing lasts forever or goes according to your plans.

After working so hard to be with her, I assumed it would become easier to continue to love her. But that was not the case, as I was constantly trying to earn her affection. Eventually, I grew resentful, tired of never being appreciated. The validation for all that I did was never acknowledged, and I decided to distance myself from her. I waited a day for her to contact me, hoping she would say anything. But the day became a week, and that week became a month. And after a year, I found out she was dating someone else, the younger brother of a friend.

Unsatisfied by the results of loving someone unconditionally, I took a walk around the park of my neighborhood. I saw children playing, older people exercising, and couples enjoying their time together. I imagined that they were all from different walks of life, yet they were all here, happy at this park. I imagined all the things that would've made them felt like that, then felt compelled to understand that for myself. For as long as I could remember being with her meant happiness, and I thought that it was about time I'd find more than that.

I soon realized that I needed to challenge myself, try new experiences, and do things I was too timid to do. Having just graduated from college, I decided to get my first job doing anything in the city. And after a short month, I somehow stumbled into a relationship. Even though it was short-lived, I gained a lifetime's worth of lessons. I learned that happiness isn't about what you think will make you happy, but the thing that finds you unexpectedly. I also understood that love does come easy, only when it is reciprocated and validated.

The second time a wandering mind saved me, loss and grief had welcomed themselves into my life. It was eight years later, and I'd grown accustomed to the throes of romantic entanglements. It had never really occurred to me, the concept of heartache and pain coming from a different source, other than a failed romance. But on December 21st, 2018, I learned that love did not have a monopoly on it.

I woke up to the sounds of my mom panicking, unable to reach my father, who left for work hours ago. She called everyone she knew and contemplated what to do, then decided to have my aunt and uncle drive her to his office. I remained calm and hopeful, and I left on my own using public transportation. When I finally got there, an employee told me to take the stairs. Waiting at the top of the stairs was a police officer, who attempted to explain the situation. But it was as though he was speaking a different language, as I could not understand what was happening. Frustrated, I interrupted him and asked, "Is my dad okay?" To which he replied, "No, he's dead...he died of a heart attack."

I walked away and sat down, calling everyone I knew and informing them of what happened. Afterward, I can't recall what exactly happened next, as time felt as though it stood still. With all the time in the world, regret and anger kept me company. Suddenly, without realizing it, I was at the funeral surrounded by friends and family. Two days had passed, of which I had no recollection.

After the new year arrived, my friends took me on a mini-vacation to ski. While everyone was skiing, I wandered off to sit amongst a crowd. As I sat alone, regret and anger came once again to keep me company, but this time around, my wandering mind was here as well. I had regrets about not loving my father enough, but then I invented an imagined memory where I did. And the anger of not being able to save him, I decided to do so in all of my made-up thoughts.

Eventually, with time, I was able to say goodbye to regret and anger, though sadness still occasionally visits. I learned that loss is not about moving on with your life, leaving the pain behind in hopes of forgetting it. It's about learning to slowly live with the pain, eventually reaching a point of acceptance and then finding closure in it.

In 2020 the world was hit with a pandemic, bringing forth uncertainty, paranoia, fear, anger, violence, and civil unrest. We all spent the year isolated and alone with our thoughts, separated from the things that gave us meaning and understanding of the world. Without the comforts of my daily routines to distract me, the doubts that life brought descended.

Each day I steadily grew angry, regretful, and bitter for the way my life turned out. I realized I was at an age where life had passed me by, whereas everyone else I knew had the things I wanted. As my birthday was approaching, I only grew even more depressed. I would usually go outside and use my wandering mind at times like this, but I was stuck because of the mandated quarantine. Watching tv or using social media was not helpful, as everything on was negative. I contemplated many times over about leaving everything behind, but the weekend of my birthday, I decided to contact a friend. She was somewhere far away from the city, a place in New Jersey that I felt I needed to be.

So I took an Uber to Penn Station the following day, passing through Manhattan. I hadn't been outdoors in three months, so I was a bit anxious coming back to it. During the car ride, I noticed the streets were covered with broken glass and garbage, not realizing that the protest and riots happened a few days ago. When I arrived at Penn Station, I got on the LIRR and stared out the window for the next three hours.

When I arrived, I found myself in a small quaint town, secluded from the troubles of the outside world. Families and friends were out and about, enjoying the fresh air and sun. My friend asked what I wanted to do, jokingly telling her that I wanted to enjoy life. She took me to the beach, and we sat on a blanket over the sand. I stared at all the people, blissfully enjoying themselves. I saw a child playing not too far from us, building an unsteady sandcastle that kept toppling over. Compared to the other children around him, he didn't have the same tools like them. But the child kept trying, over and over again, undeterred by the outcome.

Soon my mind began to wander as I imagined this child as an adult, as well as the obstacles that life would present him. I asked myself whether he would still have that same determination, or would life slowly bend him like the rest of us. But after a few minutes, he was done with his project. Even though it was not big or fancy as the other kids, he was pretty proud of his accomplishments. What surprised me most was him telling his mom, "I did the best I could with what I had."

The boy with the sandcastle inspired me, as I imagined him using his positive attitude to get through life's ups and downs. It made me consider that maybe I can do the same, living life the best I could with what I had. From that point on, I mustered up the courage to enjoy life, and that was the third time a wandering mind saved me.

Life hasn't always given me much, nor treated me fairly. But it did, however, blessed me with my imagination. Growing up, people would often think I was weird for staring off or paying attention. But it was my way of comforting myself, distracting me from what ills me. And not a day goes by that I still do it, because what's life without a bit of hope in it?