Tuxedo suits fade, and blend with crisp linen shirts, which give way to a few flannel button downs, and past the flannel is a ratty tee shirt or a bare chest. All of these diverse ensembles could be observed upon someone’s body, somewhere in a bustling, busy city. Sure, maybe the crowd parts a little bit for an impatient briefcase or shrinks slightly, unconsciously concealing the man who is still picketing for an end to the Vietnam War; but overall, in a big city, you come to realize something. People are just people like you.
The above holds true to a pretty large extent. Everyone entered the world in the same way. We were all little fetuses in out mother’s wounds. We all had fingernails 16 or 25 weeks into dear old mommy’s pregnancy. Each and every one of us was stuck in there for a good nine months, give or take. Obviously, we all came into the world minute and defenseless. I don’t know if you were born into the wing of the hospital that was built with your family’s generous contribution, or if you were born onto a moldy loveseat dating back to the prehistoric era. I also couldn’t say if your mom would read you cute little books in a cute little voice, saying “Could Thomas make it up the hill?” and when you didn’t respond, maybe she would say “ I bet he did!” in a voice appropriate to an imbecile, which, at the time, you were. I can’t say that for sure, but I can say one thing I’m sure of. Everyone is equal, including you.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not expecting Donald Trump to start hosting bi-weekly tea parties with the hobo currently sleeping on a central park bench, or have Bill Gates suddenly decide that having a sleepover with the bum on forty second street is his greatest desire, but really. Is it so hard to speak, smile, even nod to someone? Everyone has just as much heart and soul as everyone else. Even the soul who currently resides on a hilltop estate, and the soul whose utmost yearning is to befriend each and every squirrel in Rockefeller plaza can get along. They are both people, after all. They eat, sleep, and have successfully involved into Homo sapiens sapiens. And, I have no doubt that they both bring joy to someone, somewhere.
Think about Oprah, and compare her to a hobo you might see on a street. Oprah, on one hand, is a highly successful talk show host who is viewed by eight million people each day, and the devil is the culprit when she only gets 4.5 million viewers on reruns. She is instantly recognizable wherever she goes, or whatever she does. On the other hand, Mr. Hobo might be a highly accomplished ukulele player, and might also be viewed by many people a day if he picks the right street corner, yet he is not quite the celebrity caliber of Oprah. Through all of this, they still have at least one thing in common. I would bet that they both make people happy.
“People are just people, they shouldn’t make you nervous. The world is everlasting, its coming and its going (Regina Spektor.)” Through and through, by and by, it is true, true, and… true again. People are just people like you. Everyone is different, yet united, equals. This I believe.
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