A Smaller Man

The little red sports car calls my name! I’ve always wanted one, always dreamed of one, never owned one. The toy model I hold in my hand is as close as I will come. If only I could will myself to be smaller, even tiny so I could drive by her house, honk the horn and wave.

I weigh too much. I know it. It’s not something I can hide. In my middle years, my middle was different. O what I would give to be a 34″ waist again. If only I could will myself to be smaller, resurrect those pants folded in the cardboard box. I promise, I would never eat a donut again.

There’s a little voice that follows me around, not always welcome but always present. It doesn’t snicker or chide or accuse; it points out reality. It waits for one of my “if only…” moments, and then says: “This is now. Live it.” The voice is right. Wishing doesn’t make things happen.

And then, in a particularly thoughtful moment, I remembered times when I contradicted the voice, times when I succeeded in making myself smaller, less than I am: that time I knowingly settled for the easy way when it meant violating values. I became a smaller man. Or, that time when I ignored my neighbor’s plea for help; looked the other way. I became a smaller man. Or, that time when I knowingly worked against justice or mercy or kindness; sought revenge; demanded retribution. And I became a smaller man.

I have the hardest time remembering to live by a deeper nature; beyond self into servant; in this moment instead of the barren land of “if only…” I am me. I am now. I will not be a smaller man.