I started writing this post two Fridays ago. I haven't had a chance to finish it until now.
Today, a complete stranger poured out his heart to me in the lobby of a Firestone while we waited on our respective cars. He was sitting across the room from me - oversized blue sweatshirt, baggy jeans, and a face somewhere between "forgot-to-shave-this-week" and "trying-to-grow-a-mustache."
I didn't notice him at first, other than the fact that he was the only other person in the room with me. I was working on my computer, wrapped up in my own world, but I got distracted by the obnoxious aural mess being produced by the television in the corner. It was tuned to one of the many ridiculously absurd "reality" shows that grace the airwaves these days, and I dismissed myself from my reading long enough to try and figure out what in the world this woman on the screen was yelling about. Before my brain could fully switch gears, Not-Quite-a-Mustache notices that the TV has my attention, and he speaks from across the room:
"My girl watches this too."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. I don't really get it, I told her not to. It's a bunch of crap. I don't know why anyone would want to watch it. They take freaking everything these days and turn it in to 'reality TV.' It's so dumb."
"So true. Most of these shows are ridiculous."
"She watches Storage Wars too. That one I really don't get."
Our conversation stopped there, because I decided to leave off the part where I admit to him that I actually do watch Storage Wars sometimes (judge away, readers. I have no shame.) -- I just didn't feel like expanding on our reality TV commentary. Back to my computer and my reading. Except -
"Well, she's not my girl anymore, I guess."
I look up from my computer.
He had that look on his face.
The broken, 'where-does-my-life-even-go-from-here?' look.
"It's just been a really weird few days. I'm still trying to figure it out."
My brain asked my inner-self, "Why is he telling me this," but I've had enough experience with broken hearts (mine and others) to know that sometimes it's necessary and comforting to spill your life to the first person that will listen, even if that person is a complete stranger. I honestly didn't know how to respond to him at this point, so I did my best to give him a look that said, "Hey bro, that truly sucks, and I really am sorry that you're going through that right now." I closed my computer and gave him my full attention.
I listened as he proceeded to tell me all the details of his 4-year relationship, his past few days, and the current wreck that he found himself in. I sat and watched as this guy laid all of his broken pieces on the floor of that waiting room. I had no idea what to do with them or how to make him hurt less. I prayed for him in my head, and I prayed that somehow him spilling his life for twenty minutes would help. My heart hurt for him, and I prayed that God would give me words and actions for this situation, and that this guy's day might suck a little less because someone finally took the time to actually listen to his story. So I listened. Sometimes, all we need is someone to listen and understand.
It is a strange experience to have someone you've never met before need you enough or trust you enough or be desperate enough to share such things with you. It catches you off-guard at first, but then you realize that we've all been there. It's usually not as severe as what happened that day, but it's there. We've all shoved junk from our life on the checker at the grocery store when she asked you how your day was; or dumped a story on the first person you made eye contact with while waiting in line at Starbucks; or taken it out on the poor telemarketer that calls your house at 6:15 on a Tuesday night (ie, "I've dealt with [this] and [this] and [this] at work all day, then I come home and find out my son did [this] or [this] at school, and I still have to get dinner on the table. I don't appreciate you calling here, and do not call here again!").
It's weird when you think about the things we've felt the need to share with a stranger -- anger, bitterness, frustration, sadness. Broken pieces. For me, it always seems so important at the moment: like, "I'm not okay, and someone needs to know this. You asked, so I'm telling you," or maybe, "You didn't ask, but I'm telling you anyway." I always replay it later in my mind and think, "That was dumb, that person doesn't even know you and doesn't need to know what's going on in your life." But like I said, sometimes we just need someone to listen. It's part of being human, I think. We need each other. We need to feel connected and understood and, especially when we are hurting, not alone. We need each other, we need to interact, and sometimes, when everything overflows, we can't help but reach out to whoever is nearest, regardless of if we know them or not.
(We do this with joys too. You excitedly tell your waiter/the entire restaurant that you just got engaged, or you go shopping for baby clothes and tell the salesperson all about your plans and preparations for your new baby. Graduate from school, get a promotion, get good news -- you share it with anyone and everyone who will listen.
For that matter, look at this blog. Me writing so that someone will read it and maybe understand my brain a little better. Me writing because I want to share things, because I have a voice, and because I want to be heard. Because I think my story is interesting, and maybe because I want someone else to think it's interesting too.
I have friends that read it (shout out!), but ultimately anyone in the world can read it if they choose. Why is it that so many of us choose to publish our brains in blog form for anyone to read? There are lots of reasons, but I think a big one is because we want to share, and we want someone to listen.)
I feel like I've strayed from my original topic. My apologies if this is hard to follow -- I'm sort of thinking-out-loud here. Perhaps I'm spending way too much time dissecting an insignificant incident at a Firestone, but it weighed on my heart, and for that reason I think it worth writing about and certainly worth thinking about.
Back to Not-Quite-a-Mustache:
He did most of the talking that day, and I gave him what little advice I could on his situation. The girl in question seriously was being a total you-know-what, and in the end all I could tell him was to find a girl that was going to treat him right. "Yeah," he said in response, "I think I'll do that."
My conversation with him that day made me very thankful that I have a relationship with my Savior and a community of people in my life that listen, understand and are willing to help me carry my broken pieces and share in my joys. These are precious things, and should never be taken for granted.
I hope that I never find the need to pour out my broken pieces to a stranger in a waiting room, but I probably will someday, because I'm human, and that's what we do. I hope that when my life overflows and this happens, he or she will take the time to listen and let me talk myself out, because sometimes all we need is for someone to listen. And sometimes, that is enough.
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