I Smile Into the Sunshine

For the past month or so, I’ve adopted a new habit of smiling into the sunshine when I’ve driving, especially before 5 pm. I’m doing this because of a minor epiphany experienced some weeks ago: when I see smiling, I want to smile back. I nearly always do, especially if she’s good-looking and including an occasional he, especially if he’s good-looking (but don’t get the wrong idea). And when I smile at all, I feel better. The idea that “I am what I chose to be” sometimes comes through loud and clear to me, especially in traffic before 5 pm.
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There are more distractions when I’m driving and miserable. And as some semi-famous vocalist once sang — might have been Vic Damone – “I’ve got a right to sing the blues.” I’ll spare you the details here. Besides, the I.R.S., my dentist, the physicians who took out a minor non-cancerous melanoma above my upper lip a few years ago and most importantly my roofing contractor  already know what I’m bluezing about.
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Most of the time when I’m driving in daylight, I don’t listen to the radio, and I turn off my cell phone because I don’t want my last words to the attending physician, as I expire on a gurney in a hospital emergency room, to be “GoLEE, if only I hadn’t been distracted by Garrison Keillor gurglegurgle.” I do this for the same reason pilots don’t listen to their favorite CDs as they fly. Why permit unhappy coincidence to kill you so easily?
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Even so, I do grant myself permission to smile when looking into the sun when stopped and when in motion. After all, the eyes are already squinting; right? And if you’ve ever gazed into the rear view mirror of the car ahead of you, especially at stop-signs/lights you’ve probably noticed from their eyes reflected in those mirrors that they are checking you out to see what kind of Palooka or Bachmann is so close to their rear (tee hee, tee hee) bumper (tee hee).  I want to make a good impression, even though she’s probably married or has a boyfriend or has a little plastic statue of Ellen DeGenerate on her vehicle’s dashboard. Even though we’ll never meet. That’s okay.
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I smile my best for strangers.
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The guy in front of me who sees my froggy countenance smiling in his rear view mirror may remember me when it comes time to offer me a job as a writer in a week and a half. Who knows what the future may bring? I believe smiling makes a better impression than a smile shared with potential employers, and I don’t want to lose that outcome because I was distracted by something and  I wasn’t  smiling 8:38 am last Thursday at Walnut at North Grand.
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Besides smiling doesn’t mean you have to be happy when you’re smiling, though it’s a lot easier to be happy when you’re smiling than it is to be a deceptive son or daughter of an unmarried mother dog.  It’s hard when your lips are saying “joyful” and your heart is saying “dreadful.” It’s easier to give the joy to myself and others by letting the lips provide the context of the moment at the stop light or when turning left and I get a good closeup of the driver in the Camaro waiting for the light to change.
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Smiles are my gift in sunlight to anonymous humanity. Few will notice, fewer will care, fewer will remember, and that’s okay. I give anonymous strangers a reason to smile to themselves; that’s 50% of the equation. The other 50% I savor for myself.
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Live long . . . . . . . and proper.

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