Everybody Has a Story

... and that includes you.

Photo by Mikhail Pavstyuk on Unsplash

As I waited for my plane Monday, I was people-watching -- just focusing on one person at a time, asking myself, "What's her story? What's his story?" Everybody has one.

That morning, a friend and I had had breakfast at a local restaurant that was supposed to open at 8. The door was still locked at 8, but the staff person came soon thereafter and opened up. She seemed a little distracted, mentioning to us that today's dessert was key lime pie. Now, I LOVE key lime pie and rarely turn it down --- but even I had to turn it down for breakfast. Then, we noticed that she was the only server, and so I made a comment about that --- and she said yes, the other person who was supposed to be working the breakfast shift had just called in with a family emergency, so she was "it." She was trying to be host, waitstaff, keep track of which menu items weren’t available (shrimp), and also coordinate the workers who were there repairing the electrical system. Suddenly, her offer of key lime pie made sense, and I felt a lot of empathy toward her having to soldier on, and do so in very good spirits. That was her story for the morning. When she showed up for work, the day turned out not to be what she had expected. We had a very warm conversation with her and wished her well with the day ahead.

About a week prior, I was in the local grocery store. I had seen a fellow about my age in the aisles -- he had on a lime green worker's vest, and I thought perhaps he was a store employee. I almost asked him where I could find a certain food item, because they were re-organizing the grocery store and many things weren't where I usually found them. But then I realized he was shopping and didn't work there. Once I got my groceries on the checkout belt, I looked behind me and he was standing there, next in line. I had kind of overheard him talking to a woman who passed by about something that sounded difficult (they seemed to know each other), but I didn't pick up what it was. Once I had my food queued, I turned and greeted him. Here's how the conversation went with Jim (not his real name).

Hal: Hi - How are you doing today?

Jim: Well, actually not so good. I just got some bad news.

Hal: Oh, I'm so sorry. What was it?

Jim: I just got back from the neurologist's office, and he said I have early stage Alzheimer’s.

Hal: Oh my gosh - I am so sorry! Are they starting you on some medication?

Jim: There is no medication.

<I know there are some medications; but I was there to listen, not to give medical advice.>

Hal: Really? There's nothing they can give you?

Jim: The doctor just said to stop drinking and have more social interaction.

Hal: Oh gosh, I'm so sorry. But yes, being social is a good thing, just like we're doing now, right?

Jim: My daughter says (derisively) I'd talk to a lamp post.

Hal: Well, what's wrong with that? It's social! <smiling>

Jim: I know! Well, how are you?

Hal: I'm doing pretty well, but there are sometimes rough days. My wife died about a year and a half ago.

Jim: My wife died around the same time. How long were you together?

Hal: 53 years.

Jim: We were together 47. Nobody seems to stay together that long any more.

Hal: Do you have kids? I have two, but they both live far away.

Jim: I've also got two kids. My son lives across the country, and my daughter lives here. But she told me recently she wants nothing to do with me, and doesn't want me to have anything to do with her or her kids.

Hal: Oh my gosh, that must be hard.

Jim: Well, the way I coped after my wife passed was through staying at home and drinking. I know I'm supposed to stop, but after I leave here, I'm going to the liquor store.

(By then, my groceries have been rung up and bagged, and it's his turn to put his food on the belt.)

Jim: What's your name?

Hal: Hal. What's yours?

Jim: Jim. <We shook hands.>

Hal: Well, Jim, it was good to meet you, and I wish you all the best. Keep talking to people.

And we both smiled.

That conversation probably lasted 2 minutes, but Jim was able to share his story and be seen as a person, not just as a nondescript guy in the grocery store or a family member with a drinking problem.

What did I give him? Perhaps just a little lift, a little affirmation that some random stranger cared.

What did he give me? Affirmation that connecting with people, even strangers, is so important -- especially now in our world where people lead quiet lives of separation and sometimes desperation.

There is so much division in the world now -- chasms across every social identity imaginable: gender, race, class, sexual orientation, ethnicity, cultural background, political party, religion...

In our human need to make sense of this complex world, we do group and categorize. It's adaptive for survival. But then it gets complicated, because subgroups get placed in hierarchies -- one is "better" than the other, or one is more highly valued than the other. And then subgroups get pitted against one another. For what? For visibility. For existence. People and groups want to be seen. They do not want to be invisible or cancelled or erased.

Why can't we demonstrate mutual respect and find ways to co-exist? Of course, there's nothing new about that question -- or this plea. It's probably as old as our species.

These days, it sometimes feels like a hopeless task - and it's just easier to withdraw in self-preservation.

Perhaps we as single individuals have little impact on geopolitical conflicts, ideological battles, or culture wars. Sometimes it feels like we are doomed to be pawns in games driven by lust for power and money.

But at this point in my life, I'm thinking that we can each have encounters in our daily lives in which we truly see others and allow them to be seen, even in brief moments. If it can happen in a restaurant or a grocery store or an airport, it can also happen in our own families and communities. Perhaps the greatest antidote to hate is ... love.

As some rather famous people have said: "Love one another." "The greatest of these is love." "Love is all you need." "Actually."

I can’t top those.

In keeping with our growing awareness that music is medicine, I'll close with a brief video of a piece many of us probably sang in elementary school: "Let There Be Peace on Earth, and Let It Begin with Me." It features the Jakarta Philharmonic Children's Choir. Very sweet.

Wishing you uplifting encounters in the grocery store, the restaurant, the airport, or wherever you may find yourself. Let it begin with you, and you, and you, and you, and me.

And yes, I am a ridiculously hopeless optimist.

<photo taken on an airport concourse>