I never thought I would become one of those people.
The kind that forget to breathe, who developed a detestable ability to stare at something with no thought coming to mind.
A person who forgets to see the wonder in the world.
Blaming a career built around the Internet would probably be fair, but it’s my duty to keep it in check.
It’s my job to put up barriers and it’s my job to crawl outside of my head day in and day out.
Yesterday I happened upon an anole.
He surprised me by appearing on my chair.
Lizards are very common in Austin, and we find them in our house quite often. Typically they are no bigger than an inch; their underage bodies a translucent peach, a window to their blood-pumping veins.
However, this one was different.
He was big.
Full grown and curious.
When typically an anole will run with all its might in the opposite direction of my looming presence, this one stayed put. His blinking eyes studying me.
And I studied him.
For a long time.
And for the first time in awhile, I was lost, floating somewhere far away.
I had unconsciously untied the very heavy anchor of my head and let it take a mini field trip, sailing off into the anole’s eye, his webbed feet, his long, pointed tail and his ever-changing scales.
The anole hung out with me for quite awhile, never shying when I got too close to look at him.
For that time, I wasn’t one of those people.