I was in a rush to get home, so, of course, the stoplight caught me. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel while a random true crime podcast droned in the background.
And then I saw him. He was standing on the sidewalk dressed in torn jeans, dirty high-top Nike tennis shoes, and a black puffer jacket with stuffing peeping out from tiny holes. His head was covered with a black knit toboggan as he danced in place. I watched as he tapped his foot on the manhole cover—testing to be sure it wouldn’t fall. inspection cover replacement
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I smiled, thinking of how many times I had done the same thing—fearful of manhole covers, vents in sidewalks, anything that disrupted the even flow of concrete.
The man waved his arms around, hands flapping, as he stretched his foot in front to jiggle the manhole. He quickly stepped back from the round, bumpy cap while glancing across the street. He gazed longingly at the crosswalk sign, watching the red numbers count the seconds down. He poked the cover again.
How many times in my life have I continued to tap an obstacle in my life? How many times have I been so focused on the problem in front of me that I can’t see another solution? How often am I paralyzed by fear when another option is clearly in front of me?
I yearned to roll down my window and scream at the man, “Walk around it,” but I knew he couldn’t hear me. He was lost in his own fears, stuck in a maze of confusion, powerless to cross the street—unable to see a way around the barrier.
The light turned green, and I sped away, wondering how long he stood there trapped by the manhole and if he ever reached his destination. Did he ever cross the road?
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