how'd you get to be

I was on the train to Manhattan yesterday, on my way to meet up with Barbara and Charlotte, a new friend.  More accurately, I was supposed to go to Brooklyn first to see my friend John and draw Lady Gaga outfits in sidewalk chalk on his roof and soak up the sun.  On the subway, there were two tweenage girls holding dirty pillows.  I remember thinking "how cute, they're going to have a sleepover."

The trains in Brooklyn were a shitshow, so I had to take a detour and find my way to Williamsburg by going through Manhattan first.  I made a stop in Union Square to get some cash before heading over.  I emerged out of the subway to one of the most crowded streets I've experienced in the city.  I glanced to my left and saw something that made me smile for two hours straight: a gigantic pillow fight with hundreds of feather and cotton warriors.  It was pure insanity, and it was amazing.  Lady Gaga chalk creations fell by the wayside - I was captivated.

First, I explored the market before they closed up shop.  I stopped by a table with a bunch of really cute guys selling t-shirts.  They immediately started talking to me, sharing their philosophy.  They were master salesmen, and I am living proof as I write this entry in one of their inventive shirts.  To be honest, I would have purchased it without knowing the backstory of their mission and ideology.  They are Holstee, and I think you should check them out.  If at all possible, buy a shirt when they're out and about because mine was only $30 compared to their $40 website listing.  I got the Rubicks one, so you're not allowed to.

Content after my buy and smiling at the pillow fight, I sat directly in the sun's rays on a bench and people watched for the next hour and a half.  I opened my notebook to write.  I was feeling overwhelmingly inspired, or something.  The words never came to me, and instead, I sat there with an empty page and a mind full of thoughts.  I sat, half waiting for Barbara and Charlotte, half hoping they'd come much later when I had bored of the feeling of sitting there.

I was just so happy.  I was happy to see other people happy, smiling, beating each other with pillows, with the occasional burst of feathers flying above their heads and off on their journey through the maze of the city.  There was a man in a kilt.  There was a woman who sat next to me who called someone to describe what she was seeing with glee.  There was another woman who walked by, admiring said woman's hat.  Admiring it so much she was on the phone with someone herself, describing how fabulous of a hat this lady was wearing.  There was a dad with his son, fascinated by the pillow fight.  There was a group of girls having trouble getting over the fence, giggling as they straddled it with struggle.  There were puppies with tongues hanging out of their mouths in exasperated fulfillment.  And there was me, sitting on a bench, too happy to write or express how happy I was.

I looked at the manifesto written on the tag of my new shirt, and it demanded that I ask the first person I saw to share what their passion was with me.  Instead, I realized a passion of mine, which is to create, seek, and surround myself with happiness.