Sunday Spoiled, Sorta

"And now I'd like to introduce the youth choir. I can guarantee none of these kids are dropping bombs on Boylston Street."

I sucked in a gulp of air and dropped my head, thinking, "really lady?"

I wanted to groan audibly. I wanted to take to twitter (like these people took to Universal Hub) and express my disgust. Shame on you, host, for bringing that up. Hundreds of people are sitting in Copley Square patiently awaiting the Handel and Haydn Society's playing of Beethoven's Symphony No. 9. We came to enjoy a summer afternoon and take advantage of one of the benefits of living in Boston: free events like the Boston Summer Arts Weekend. The host, tasked with starting the show, chose these words. 

I could have seethed with anger at this unexpected reminder of that April day. I didn't. I shuttered and shook my head. I gave Greg a "did you hear that" squeeze and I moved on, listening to the youth choir, thinking, "how does she know what those kids are up to?"

The truth is, my mind had already gone there, before the host took the stage. Arriving in Copley Square an hour early with a lawn chair and blanket, we claimed a spot on the grass, behind the metal gate of the VIP section. I reached into my bag for the books we'd brought to pass the time. "My bag," I thought. Nobody checked my bag. The crowd was slowly growing. Crowds, unsecured. What does everyone have in their bag? 

The metal gate in front of us, just like the barriers that line the marathon route on Boylston Street. My mind already went there. What if we need to get away from this space? How quickly could I move that gate? My thoughts didn't dwell on this fence, on this day, because it wasn't keeping me confined. Had I been on the other side, in the smaller, enclosed space I surely would have needed a few more deep breaths, a few more moments to reassure my mind that it can't happen again, not in this place, not today. It just can't, right?

My mind goes there automatically now. Always. Any crowd, anywhere. Parade, ball game, festival, beach, on the T, even at the rooftop pool. If there are a lot of people, if bags aren't checked (heck, even when they are) my mind goes there. 

So where is there? Hmm...how have I not written that down yet? I will, I think. Someday, not today. But you probably know, you've seen the news. 

How does one escape that place? Enter yoga and the deep breaths that come with it. Inhale, exhale, escape.

The Symphony was great, the opening remarks quickly forgotten. The crowd was happy and safe.

Love my city Sundays. 

Bravo!