Confession 2 - The Long Walk Home

I have often joked with my friends about waking up in a dumpster, completely naked, and having no recollection whatsoever about how I got there. Occasionally there are some props involved, such as a pink tutu hazardlessly strewn amongst the putrid rubbish. Nobody really knows just what events may have transpired to cause me to end up in such a state, but it’s the humor of the whole setting that matters most.

Although the actual details vary slightly each time, we come up with some delightfully elaborate descriptions of this scenario. Of course, it is all completely unfounded because I don’t drink alcohol. In fact, I am probably one of the last people to ever be found in such a predicament. In the end, that just adds to the irony.

As often as we joke about it, I generally thought that these kinds of things don’t really happen - well, maybe on Comedy Central, but not in real life. But then reality set in.

While engaged in my routine cabbage, I saw a similar scene manifest itself in real life. And I assure you, this was no hallucination, no matter how tired I may have been. I first saw it between the pages of the newspaper. And no, I wasn’t reading about it. It literally was there, between two pages of a newspaper. Extending out from the bottom of those pages were two very long legs, and from the top a long, bare torso. I couldn’t believe it.

He was just walking down the street. It was about 2am on West Elizabeth. Nobody else was around. Nobody except for this naked guy. My reactions were mixed between pity, laughter, and a slight element of “wow that guy is cool!” He was just trekking along the street, holding one paper to the front of his waist, and the other to the back. His stride was surprisingly confident. He didn’t appear rushed, nervous, or jumpy. His head didn’t hang with shame. Truly this was a man who was a master of the predicaments he faced. If only we all could hold our head so high in our moments of utmost vulnerability, even when we are walking down the streets of life, completely naked except for the newspaper.

I didn’t get to see his face, his expression, or even whether or not he was covered with goose bumps from the chilly night air. Perhaps it is better that way. The mystery of the situation adds to its intrigue. Without a face or identity, he doesn’t have to take upon himself the weakness of a typical person. Instead, he remains an icon – a living reminder to all of us to take what life dishes out to us, or in this case, to surrender what life viciously pries from our fingers or off our bodies.

There is so much we can learn this man.

Think about it.

And next time you go to a party, bring an extra set of clothes. Or else you too might end up walking home naked, covering yourself with newspaper, and the night might not be as warm for you.