Last week, my wife was working on a television show. As she was puling into the studio, she had to stop at the security gate. As she was doing this, she was hanging up the phone with her father. So, she said something like, “Dad, I have to go. I love you.” The Security Guard overheard this and said, “was that your father you were talking to?” My wife nodded. To which the woman replied, “I lost my father last June and my mother a year before that. I would do anything to be able to talk to them again.” Then, she began to weep. My wife began to cry, struck by the incredible gravity of this moment, by the opened, broken heart and the weeping. My wife reached out her hand and grabbed the woman’s hand. They both cried and shared a rare and beautiful moment of human connectivity. At that moment, this woman was not defined by what she did (in a uniform, at a security gate, mundanely checking names off a list). She was defined by who she was; who she is. A human being experiencing great loss. So much so that her humanity broke down the walls of polite, pedestrian and innocuous interactions. In a way, the hurried moments of time we were frozen by something far greater than our momentary destination. This woman’s loss and vulnerability became my wife’s (and subsequently, mine) deep and humbling recognition that we both still have our parents, we both have people we can casually speak words of love to.
When my wife shared the story, she began to cry and so then, did I.
From a woman I will probably never meet comes the spirit of the human condition. Fragile, hurting and seeking, we are human beings, not human doings. I mean, this woman is just one story, one story woven into our history. When we have these brushes of deep connections with each other, it is imperative that we stop, think and take a deep breath of gratitude. We are too busy for them to happen consistently.
It is, once again, a reminder that we are not defined by what we do for a living. Our jobs make a living. Our characters make a difference. Often, we think that because somebody serves coffee or checks names off a list at a security gate or waits on tables, that they are relegated to the confines of their job descriptions. We cannot let ourselves slip into the tragic callousness where our mission, goals and accomplishments become more important than the people we meet along the way. For the most part, I find that we’re all just trying to do our best to get by in this highly complicated, freakishly progressive and impossibly complex world. Although we are all each so unique in our own right – bestowed with a select set of talents, skills and wonder that sets us apart from one another, human nature is not at all that different. We all have needs, dreams, challenges, losses, ecstasies, frustrations, confusions, questions, ideas, anger, joy and a host of endless other human emotions and constructs that make this world what it is.
I would suggest that we take a week, at least, to look at every human encounter as an opportunity to metaphorically touch the hand of another. It doesn’t have to be literal, but it can be. Whatever you make it to be. My second suggestion is to pick up the phone and call at least three people you love and just tell them that you love them.
My wife was not expecting such a remarkable encounter that will not soon leave us. She was available, at a divine moment, to connect with another person and was reminded that each day is truly a gift.