I was walking through the mall today on my way to see a movie when a GreenPeace worker saw me, noticed my Marvin the Martian shirt, and said “Ah, you’re a fan of cartoons; we should chat.”  I said “It looks as though I’m headed somewhere,” and gestured forward in the direction that I was clearly walking towards with purpose.  She stood shocked, mouth agape, and eventually called out to me, as I’d passed her by this point, “Well, have a good day, then.”  I called back “You, too,” and went to my movie, which was just starting.  I felt like I’d been short with her, rude, but I knew I hadn’t.  The fact of the matter was, I did look like I was headed somewhere.  I was moving, trucking, my shoulders and hips in concert as I strode forward, cutting through time and space.  I merely pointed it out to her as a fact, to persuade her that maybe people with an air of purpose aren’t her target audience.  I spend a lot of time in a teeming public while I am totally alone, and I can tell the difference between someone ambling to and fro and someone actively going somewhere.  People who amble don’t use their hips or shoulders; their sad little feet shuffle and pull them through advertising-laden environments while their head spins on a swivel to detect the secret something that will fill their soul with happiness.   More often than not, it’s Jamba Juice.

I thought about going to see if she was still there after the movie and explain my position, let her know I’m not an asshole, just a guy with purpose, with drive.  But I doubt she’d listen, or agree that a movie is more important than the Sumatran Tiger which is near extinction.  It’s not; I get that, but keeping someone from an appointment, no matter how trivial, won’t drive the threat back, either.  In retrospect, I should’ve made myself a little more late for the film and explained it to her right then and there; stopped mid-stride and walked back to her.  Sat her down on a bench nearby and people-watched with her, pointing out the slower sheep who were ripe for slaughter and also the brazen antelope which were well out of her predatory league.  Again, I doubt it would have done much good, but at least I would’ve taken the time, and that can’t be rude, now can it?

I know the amblers; I see them a lot.  I was driving home from work yesterday and I saw a man crossing the street, his shoulders hunched over, his head down, a black plastic bag in his right hand hanging heavy, almost touching the ground.  He pressed the button for the crosswalk and looked up to see the traffic conditions and his look was so vacant and yearning that I felt my heart catch in my throat.  His sadness, his sense of misplacement, was all too familiar to me.  I felt an empathy toward him, and it reminded me that I feel it a lot.  I am constantly being manipulated, however minutely, by the feelings of those around me.  Not just those socially close to me; those in my general vicinity.  I was at a stop light and a gentleman crossed in front of me, looking at his phone, earplugs in, smiling one of the dopiest grins I’d ever seen.  I chuckled to myself, and immediately chastised myself for it and fell into a deep remorse.  Then the light turned green and I left them all behind, my mind cleared, the wind came in from the window, the song changed on the iPod, and I was myself, again.  Or maybe someone else.  I don’t know if I’ll ever really know.

I’m just tired of pain, you know?  Everyone is so sad all the time, and they have plenty of reason to be.  When I was younger, everything seemed so much more positive.  Television was populated with people we could aspire to be like: Matlock, Jessica Fletcher, Mr. Moore from Head of the Class.  All the popular music was about love and happiness, and the human interest story was the highlight of the nightly news.  Now it seems like dissonance and despair reign supreme.  Television is filled with negative role models, people we’re genuinely pleased not to be: Snooki, Jerry Springer’s guests, Teen Mom, OctoMom.  All the popular music is full of angst and disillusionment, and the only human interest story we hear on the news now is when one of our former idols dies.  It’s just so sad, all the time, and I can’t help but feel it pressing in on me.

And it’s not global, and it’s not just strangers; my friends and family are suffering, and I can’t help the situation.  Some days, I don’t even want to.