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I never wear them, the weight of the frames on the bridge of my nose leaves a deep blue indent that refuses to reconstruct itself into a normal skin tone for, at the very least, 25 minutes. When I think of the cost, even with the family and friends discount, the clarity of the view is still flawed by the wickedly hipster-esque brown arches that capture the clarity.

If clarity could be constructed for a quarter what would the world look like?

It appears (all puns intended) that the term “urban renewal” is blanketing the country like a circus on steroids. Wrecking balls swing like the knife throwing traipse artists, while cannon ball girls stand proudly against the rubble. But it isn’t the bricks and mortar that lies in heaps waiting to be carted away, it is the people, trash people, because we treat them like trash, ignore them like trash, like a problem that is so discardable.

We build, we renovate and look down from our newly remodeled pedestals and pounder such a meek existence. We assume that our facades are more real and full constructed, that we’ve made better choices, so we bow our heads and thank providence for our affluence.

But what in life is truly “choice?”

Often when I think about the many unexpected events that occur daily, I realize that it is not my choices, but how I choose to respond to life’s occurrences that creates a larger impact on my personal experience and how others experience me. We are all familiar with the aspects of call and response, and yet we assume that we have been the first to create the call. What I would like to propose is that the call was made thousands, if not millions of years ago, and that we will forever be in response to it. In this we release some aspects of control, gain humility, and hopefully become more accountable for our actions.

I’ll give you a quarter, and you’ll respond.

Yesterday, I found myself waiting on the back of a motorcycle, at an extremely busy intersection. There was a man standing on the corner with a sign, because he was hungry. We spoke for a while, he asked for a smoke, but I don’t, so I couldn’t help. Later, I went to an event where food and drinks were passed through forgetful hands. Of the many stories that were shared that night not one was as sincere or as true that of the man who stands on the corner waiting for a light, some change, and some food.

If change is to occur let it be distributed equally and with awareness.

I’d like to setup a stand, like the one I had as a child, pushing pink lemonade on a dead end street. I’d have two jars, one for renewal and one for healing. But perhaps, I would need a scale so that I could be sure that what was given was equal in measure.

I often wonder how it is that we can renew buildings, so much money for stone, but where is the money to heal the heart and the people who need it the most?