Drawbridges
"I hate this city," I muttered, stuck at a drawbridge that had added ten minutes to an appointment I was already late for. My son, in the back seat, was telling me how beautiful the view was. He was right.
I was trying to get my son to an appointment downtown. I had left on time. I had checked the mapping software beforehand to get a sense of what traffic would be like, so I could plan my route and morning accordingly. Then I made a wrong turn near the building and was stopped by a drawbridge, adding another ten minutes to my lateness for an appointment I was already late for.
"I hate this city," I muttered. It came out automatically, without thought. Then I remembered my son was sitting in the back, but luckily, he had not heard me. Instead, he began talking about how much he loved drawbridges and how pretty the view was from the bridge.
The contrast became clear to me: how things looked through my son's eyes, compared with how I viewed the same moment with such disdain.
I was sitting there hating the city for over ten minutes of traffic. He was watching a bridge lift out of the water. If the drawbridge was awesome and the view was beautiful, as my son rightfully said, I should have been there with him.
Because drawbridges are awesome. And the view was beautiful.