Now, here at the beginning of adulthood, I find myself still counting smiles.
I realized recently that I was falling far behind the quota. There's something jarring about 5 p.m. and recognizing the first faint smile crawl across your face after scrolling deadpan through a newsfeed for the umpteenth time since breakfast. I'd even get pissed when it was because of a stupid 27-things-you're-not-going-to-believe-are-the-cutest-puppies-since-which-cereal-box-are-you article. Like, if I was going to smile, it had better be for a f*cking make-Dad-proud reason.
So, I set out into the city to find reasons to smile. I walked on the sunny side of the street and crossed every time I hit a shadow. I looked up like a tourist and counted the floors of buildings. I read street signs for bus stops and the map to see where it could take me. I window shopped at stores I couldn't afford and decided what I would buy first when I could. I walked up the steps of an office building just so I could walk down them again, then circled the block to see how many people I would pass a second time.
Finally, I took a book to a park and sat, watching the throngs of people walking through a city that most only dream of visiting. And there I was, daring to live in it.
I smiled at least twenty times during my jaunt, making sure to direct each one at a passerby just in case karma was real. But that last smile that came when I realized that my dreams of making it in the Big Apple were still hiding somewhere behind my smirk - that was worth at least ten on its own.
As I flipped the book open to Chapter 8, a park pianist down the way started playing Rhapsody in Blue. I turned towards the music and smiled to the girl on my right. She looked at me with no response and turned her head away as I thought,
"Bitch."
And I smiled again,
TJB: Making It
