A Sunday Morning Promenade

Home in the Bay Area: My Comfort Zone (Part I)


It might seem crazy what I’m about to say

The four of us parade to dance at our destination. We’re music and colors, all drum-beat and broadway. We flicker into view, floating you back toward here and now. Before we float past, you find yourself noticing us.

You might think we enjoy spectators—we do. And don’t. We’re not abrupt on your senses, we’re noticeable.

Sunshine she’s here, you can take a break

The four of us mob-dance to dance at a ballroom. Ayme is tall and frills, all imposing and dorothy. You see her fluttery feather first: it directs us toward Broadway. By the time we cruise past your car, you find yourself smiling back.

You might think she enjoys being looked at—she does. And doesn’t. She’s not ostentatious, she’s noticeable.

I’m a hot air balloon that could go to space

The four of us swoosh to dance to a DJ. Lexy is tall and smiles, all bright and ariel. You hear her dance music first: it metronomes and paces us along Broadway. By the time we march past your café table, you find yourself talking in rhythm.

You might think she enjoys being talked about—she does. And doesn’t. She’s not rambunctious, she’s noticeable.

With the air like I don’t care, baby (by the way).

The four of us stretch to dance in a studio. Jim is leather and zebra, all dragon and misty. You whiff his magic cloud first: it puffs us a route from Broadway. By the time we troop past your crosswalk, you find yourself reminiscing about butterscotch.

You might think he enjoys being seen clearly—he does. And doesn’t. He’s not deviant, he’s noticeable.

Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof.

The four of us walk to dance On Broadway. I’m brown and hipster, almost San-Francisco-Startup and othery. You squint at my head first: it confides that I am an almost an other amongst others. By the time we glide past y0u along Broadway, you’ve found yourself smiling at a stranger.

You might think I enjoy standing out—I do. And don’t. I’m not almost, I’m almost an almost.

Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth.

Three friends accompanied me as I walked—for almost nineteen blocks—almost outside my comfort zone.

Clap along if you know what happiness is to you

Two friends accompanied me as I wrote—for almost four hours—outside my comfort zone.

Clap along if you feel like that’s what you wanna do

You accompanied me by reading — for almost three minutes — what I wrote when I was far outside my comfort zone.

First, Pause for a Prequel: A Promenade Caricature

With humble gratitude to Pharrell Williams for his music & lyrics.

Photo by Ivana Rastislava Blaskova, licensed under CC-BY-3.0.