I’m Crossing Anyway

I took this photo and had AI clean it up for me.  I do that often, you know snapping quiet, random moments on my phone, almost like I’m eavesdropping on life as it unfolds.

I’m drawn to these candid scenes for reasons I can’t always explain. Later, when I scroll back through my camera roll, I like to see what I’ve actually captured. Recently I’ve started to believe the universe slips messages into frames when I’m not paying attention. I might miss them at first, but on the second or third look, something hidden begins to surface.

This one felt like a gentle pat on the back. A subtle wink from the cosmos.

It spoke to me.

And I know this is subjective, but the message was clear:

“You are not invisible. Even when you feel small.”

So let’ me explain what I see in this picture. The man in the photo is alone. Head down. Crossing the street.

That’s me when I move through this concrete jungle. Some days I feel like I’m just passing through unnoticed head lowered, watching every crack in the pavement just so I don’t trip and stumble to the floor. 

What captivates me most in this image is the light slicing between the buildings. It illuminates his path, and he doesn’t even realize it.

MS feels like the traffic….constant. Impatient. In the way.  It doesn’t care how your morning is going.

It honks. It blocks lanes. It reroutes plans without warning.

The city doesn’t stop at least not where I’m from.  Traffic keeps moving.

The sun rises whether you’re ready or not.

This disease moves the same way. No apologies. Always in motion.

I suppose my MS is a New Yorker too.

It never sleeps.

But like the man in this photograph, I am still crossing.

Still stepping forward.

Still here.

I don’t need the world to pause for me to matter.

I only need the next step.