I think I’ve decided on a new goal in life.

I want to be a “walker by.”  You know, one of those people on the evening news who walks behind the anchorperson?  They are so cool, caught on camera for six feet of their day.

What would you do in your six feet?

Would you look rushed and important, pumps clacking on the tar, briefcase steadfast by your side?  Or would you be the kid who rushes straight into the limelight, puts your hat on backwards, and yells into the camera, “I love you, Mom!”

Today I would be the casual walker-by.  My hands in my overcoat, my chin pointed in the direction I’m going.  It would look like I was breathing, lost in deep thoughts. People would wonder if I’m a mystic.  Their thoughts would wander with me, past my six feet of fame; they would imagine I was going to a dark, mysterious room filled with candles and incense and people’s dreams.

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