The Cataclysmic Ordinary Moment

 
There was a woman I saw the other day, an elderly woman. She had a smile on her face and her eyes were closed. A stroller was in front of her, probably that of her grandchild’s.
 
There’s this thing that happens when I look at people, especially old people. I spin the world around me and stand as if I exist in the same moment she’s living. With her same history. Same memories. Same hopes and dreams. I wonder what she wants out of life, if this moment is the moment she’s been waiting for. Or if she’s still waiting on something, maybe she’s given up. I wonder how I would be feeling if I were her. All this takes a few seconds before I zip back into my own body.
 
So, when this old lady crossed my eyes, I wondered who she was. Why was she alone? Where was her family? Why was she stuck babysitting? Why was she smiling? Why were her eyes closed?
 
I wondered what it would be like if I were her. When I’m an old lady and I’m smiling with my eyes closed with a stroller, why would I be doing that?
 
Why would you smile when you’re old? For me, it’d be because I’d had a great, epic life and I’m happy. I’m talking best-selling author, traveled around the world, teaching young kids how to build their own entrepreneurial empires proudly, illuminating as many hearts as I can, and showing the world through example what Islam is really about.
 
I’d be smiling with closed eyes because I had fresh baby ears awaiting the tale of my life story, so that one day she can be a part of my legacy and be a better version of human than I could ever be.
 

Why would you be smiling as the wrinkled version of yourself?