We seem to swirl around each other in a furious dance of busyness. Time is a precious commodity of which none of us seem to have enough. Every moment filled with thoughts, plans, and productivity. Many mornings I awake with a “to do” list scrolling through my mind and continue at a steady pace of it until it is time for bed. There are often days I look back on when I realize I have simply responded to all of the demands that were thrown at me, not actually being purposeful to choose how I wanted to live in that given day. This harried way of existence not only seems to suck the Life out of life, it fails to make room for others.
I often walk my dog on a path near my office. Many others walk this same little strip as it is near the new hospital, the new light rail and a few shops and restaurants. It strikes me that I am often quite content to move past another without looking into their eyes or even offering a greeting. Yet, when a rare moment is taken to acknowledge the other, the stranger who is passing by, some small pleasantry, an exchange that says, “I see you”, something shifts internally for me. Something changes. It’s as if I have been let into the experience of another, a small interruption in their day. And that other person has been let into my day in some way.
My husband has a favorite story that he likes to tell. When he was attending CU Boulder as a college student he would often ride his bike to and from campus. One day he happened to ride up behind this burly black man who was‘clipping right along’ on the bike path that runs throughout the Boulder landscape. Something in Aaron's natural competitive spirit took hold and he decided he was going to pass this guy and beat him to the non-existent finish line. So as he was pulling around him, out of the corner of his eye, the guy looked over with a friendly but fierce gleam in his eye and said, “Oh, no you don’t!” And thus began the sprint. And so for the next however far, the two of them pushed their bikes and their bodies to the limit, all the while, catching glances of amusement and unspoken comradry with the other, until they both lost their breath in peals of laughter and the stranger on the bike turned off onto what Aaron supposed was his own street. As my husband often shares the story, I have a touch of nostalgia for this man I have never met, wondering if he tells this same story to his wife and kids around the dinner table. Secretly I even hope that someday we will all share a meal and a laugh telling of the day of the "great race".
It compels me to wonder what would happen if I could stop the running list of “to dos” for a moment and notice the life that is in front of me. Maybe it my child who needs a little attention. Maybe it is a homeless man panhandling for some spare change. Perhaps it is a business executive who looks important and busy. Maybe it is the one staring back at me in the mirror who says, “ I need to be seen. Not what I can do for you or how I check off the list of what it means to matter in this life. I need to be seen. All the cracks, breaks, and messes that I seem to make.” I wonder what I am missing in the eyes, the handshake, the laugh of another when I fail to look, to see, to notice or touch. Because of those five spontaneous minutes over twenty years ago, the guy on the bike and my husband's stories have somehow become linked, rubbed off on each other in some way. Like when you bump into the petal of a lily and the powdery stuff gets knocked off leaving an orange dust on whatever it touches. Is it annoying and now I must rinse it off...or is it beauty...rubbed off onto me?
