Finding God in my life, my groceries, my commute

On the importance of habit, the place you live, and grief

song: My Love Mine All Mine

I took the red line back today instead of the green line. I took it after going to the GYM and running into the guy we would often encounter in the Commons together. I took the red line, and despite us having never taken it together, I thought of you, Justin. On the train, I read a Substack on the importance of the place you live in. He responded to the following comment in his post “But the day to day stays the same. You still have to get to work either by car or by bus. You still have to shop be it a Costco or farm stand. You may prefer one but life is still life. Spain is a life that works for you, but you still gotta eat.”

I thought about where I shop. I thought about Haymarket, the place where I get my fruits and veggies, which is so inconveniently far away from where I live. I make it a day trip–I go to my yoga studio in the North End. I get a breakfast sandwich for inconveniently 3 dollars cash-only (which I will gatekeep because I cannot let the prices go up). I walk to Haymarket, the chaos begins to ensue the moment as I step and get a whiff of all the freshly cut fish in the stands. The vendors impatiently yell at me to pick the veggies I want. They play loud reggaetón, they scream at each other,, they curse at each other, they laugh together. They throw me a plastic bag which I kindly refuse. I muster all the cash I have left over from when I go to the ATM and it charges me 5 dollars for each transaction. I make an effort to grab a new fruit, one that I've never tried before and possibly like it so much it draws me to come back. I take the train back and carry all my groceries through the green line. If it's packed, someone always kindly offers up their seat so I can sit down. If the day is beautiful and warm I bike back and go through the Red line bridge which offers only the most magnificent view of Boston and Cambridge.

I think about the rest of my grocery shopping at Trader Joes near Cambridgeport which I conveniently drive to. I get my groceries and a teeny, tiny treat (shoutout to the TJ’s chocolate croissant). I drive through Memorial Drive the skyline of Boston pierces through my car window. I park in one of the parking spots next to the river. I listen to music, I enjoy my treat, I watch the skyline, I journal.

I think about my commute to work, where I haphazardly eat my overnight oats and walk through Cambridge Street. The baristas in Emeldorf are taking orders like it's their last day, reminding me much of my days as a diner server. I play my Boston playlist, I wave to the old lady who sits on the stairs every morning to say hi to all the commuters. The fish market has also just started to put out their fish and life in Cambridge is just getting started.

I think about my commute back where you and I used to debrief our long days at work and you would always offer up the seat for me or an elder. We would laugh and talk and wave goodbye. I would walk back to East Cambridge and the sun would begin to set and the moon would begin to rise.

As I get off in the red line and the moon begins to illuminate my walk back home, I remember how much the song My Love is Mine All Mine meant to you.

“Moon still me if I could

Send up my heart to you?

So when I die which, I must do

Could it shine down here with you”

I thought about my life, my commute, my groceries.

“…places possess a marked capacity for triggering acts of self-reflection, inspiring thoughts about who one presently is, or memories of who one used to be, or musings on who one might become. And that is not all. When places are actively sensed, the physical landscape becomes wedded to the landscape of the mind, to the roving imagination, and where the mind may lead is anybody's guess.”

She's right, life is still life, you still have to shop whether it'd be Costco or a fruit stand, but can you find God in the Costco? Can you find God in your commute to work?

I thought about my life, my groceries, my commute. I found God in every corner of Boston and you.