Human Connection and the Bigger Picture
A man sits alone in a quiet corner of Raleigh Durham terminal one and tunes his mandolin. I have escaped to the terminal which is quiet, not reflecting the chaos at the ticketing counters outside caused by panicked travelers who arrived to learn of cancelled flights. I received word of my cancellation via text at 3:00 a.m. and quickly called and rebooked through another connecting city. Those in line at the ticket counter slept instead. I don't know which one of us really made the better choice as I type at 37,000 feet not knowing whether I'll make a connection and whether I'll find open passable roads once I arrive in Denver.
The mandolin is one of my favorite sounds. I walk laps but linger at that end of the terminal and slow my pace. The sound is soothing and beautiful. On one of my laps I discover a man has approached the mandolin player and asks him a question. Soon there is a mandolin playing "Silent Night" and an angelic voice singing along. It was a moment I was just glad to soak in, to experience.
I don't approach people I don't know. I don't make small talk with strangers in lines. I married a man who will do this and I love this characteristic in him but I am not extroverted in that manner. This morning I faced some choices. I could be grumpy and anxious and scowl and try to control something I could not possibly control or I could be open and try to grow from the experience. I could step out of my comfort zone. I chose the latter.
My first choice was to strike up a conversation with the man behind me in line for security. I asked if he was having travel woes. He explained that he had received an incorrect text regarding his flight and he thought it was delayed. When he arrived at the airport he learned of the mistake and he had ten minutes to make it to his gate. It was not to be. He was going to get into the terminal and then go to a desk and figure out his next move. He wasn't frustrated. He wasn't upset. He laughed. He told me that there would be no one to open his office in the morning. I told him that I was lucky enough to be team teaching a course and my teaching partner would be there but it wasn't making me feel any better about the situation. We talked about how we had done everything right. We both had flown in Friday after completing our work. We both had booked return flights at the earliest opportunity on Sunday to allow plenty of cushion. We had made all the responsible decisions to get away from our homes. Now, the rest wasn't up to us and it wasn't going so well. I was struck by his calm presence, his rational points, his lack of anxiety. Then he said it. A small comment. "My wife had serious cancer-now, that's urgent. This stuff, this is the small stuff." Unfortunately, we had something else in common and we were able to visit briefly about how cancer comes in and reprioritizes life and reminds you of balance and perspective. He got it. He reminded me. What a gift.
My second choice was to approach Max, the singing man. I walked right up to him and said, "I heard you singing down there and you have the voice of an angel." Max beamed. He told me his immigration story, struggling with his English but conveying it all clearly. His mother taught him that music soothes the soul and when he was only two she discovered he had a gift. She made certain he learned guitar, piano, harmonica, and accordion as a child. He learned to sing. It was all in his native Spanish. When he began working in the U.S. he would sing with passengers and fellow airport workers and he was accompanied once by a concert pianist from New York. He produced the video on his phone to share. He loved Silent Night and longed to learn how to sing it in English. He asked someone to write the words for him and he said he practiced one word at a time for months. As soon as he knew it by heart in English he tore the paper up and took every chance he found to sing it and share it. So, on a January morning, in terminal one, he again graced me with a soothing version of Silent Night proudly in polished English. Then, he said God gave him creative talents and showed me pictures on his phone of the paintings he created and the ornate cakes he decorated. He told me he creates one thing every day so as not to squander or forget the gifts bestowed upon him. He teaches guitar free in his home to young children who need soothing and suffer from anxiety. Max was a custodian. When I stopped to visit with him he was emptying trash into a large wheeled bin. Max was a musician and an artist and Max had an incredible story. Max would have only been that busy custodian to me had I not made a decision to open myself up to someone and make a connection. And, Max, well he was so much more than he first appeared. He was a survivor and an inspiration. He was the embodiment of loving life and loving connecting with others. Max was my sermon this Sunday morning.
My rapid trip to Durham was to see a friend, one I haven't seen in more than eight years. It is amazing to me how one can simply see a friend and pick up right where you both left off regardless of the passage of time. We fell right into step and I was reminded how much I miss our coffees and our office talks and our sharing of life. Too often I don't take these opportunities in life to reconnect. I'm too busy. There's always an excuse. Now, those of you who know me know there was also an opportunity to watch her son play basketball in the ACC in the front row of Cameron Stadium against powerhouse Duke. I cannot lie and say that wasn't a huge bonus to the situation. But, visiting with a dear friend and her now grown, beautiful and funny daughter and watching them both beam with pride while their son and brother played basketball was the highlight. What a great time. As horrified as I am that I may not get home today, I wouldn't trade any of it. I need to make more time for the great people in my life. I need to stay connected.
There were smaller decisions this morning. I chose to smile at the airline counter woman who was frazzled trying to reschedule angry passengers. I chose to stop and say thank you to the agent who took my ticket. I chose to talk to the airline agent who was literally running down frazzled moms with strollers to be sure they found their gates and tagged their strollers without further delay. I let her know I noticed the extra effort and knew passengers appreciated it. All responded with smiles and I hope I helped the craziness of their work in a small way.
So, this morning was crazy and I don't think it's going to get any better once I'm on the ground in Nashville. Mechanical issues and de-icing delayed our take off and I'm likely going to miss my connection. But, when changing my flight in the early morning hours, I specifically chose Nashville- a place I've never been. I guess that was the first choice of the day that led to my stretching and growing. It was a fortuitous choice as the other flight through Chicago was later cancelled.
My choices so far today reminded me of the importance of human connection and of stepping back and looking at the bigger picture. They reminded me I can only control some things and not all things. They reminded me to be open and to listen and to truly see what's around me. They also sparked something that's been missing in my life recently- an urgency to write. I couldn't wait to open my notebook while waiting for my first flight. Stories were born and I'm ready to write them.
The mandolin is one of my favorite sounds. I walk laps but linger at that end of the terminal and slow my pace. The sound is soothing and beautiful. On one of my laps I discover a man has approached the mandolin player and asks him a question. Soon there is a mandolin playing "Silent Night" and an angelic voice singing along. It was a moment I was just glad to soak in, to experience.
I don't approach people I don't know. I don't make small talk with strangers in lines. I married a man who will do this and I love this characteristic in him but I am not extroverted in that manner. This morning I faced some choices. I could be grumpy and anxious and scowl and try to control something I could not possibly control or I could be open and try to grow from the experience. I could step out of my comfort zone. I chose the latter.
My first choice was to strike up a conversation with the man behind me in line for security. I asked if he was having travel woes. He explained that he had received an incorrect text regarding his flight and he thought it was delayed. When he arrived at the airport he learned of the mistake and he had ten minutes to make it to his gate. It was not to be. He was going to get into the terminal and then go to a desk and figure out his next move. He wasn't frustrated. He wasn't upset. He laughed. He told me that there would be no one to open his office in the morning. I told him that I was lucky enough to be team teaching a course and my teaching partner would be there but it wasn't making me feel any better about the situation. We talked about how we had done everything right. We both had flown in Friday after completing our work. We both had booked return flights at the earliest opportunity on Sunday to allow plenty of cushion. We had made all the responsible decisions to get away from our homes. Now, the rest wasn't up to us and it wasn't going so well. I was struck by his calm presence, his rational points, his lack of anxiety. Then he said it. A small comment. "My wife had serious cancer-now, that's urgent. This stuff, this is the small stuff." Unfortunately, we had something else in common and we were able to visit briefly about how cancer comes in and reprioritizes life and reminds you of balance and perspective. He got it. He reminded me. What a gift.
My second choice was to approach Max, the singing man. I walked right up to him and said, "I heard you singing down there and you have the voice of an angel." Max beamed. He told me his immigration story, struggling with his English but conveying it all clearly. His mother taught him that music soothes the soul and when he was only two she discovered he had a gift. She made certain he learned guitar, piano, harmonica, and accordion as a child. He learned to sing. It was all in his native Spanish. When he began working in the U.S. he would sing with passengers and fellow airport workers and he was accompanied once by a concert pianist from New York. He produced the video on his phone to share. He loved Silent Night and longed to learn how to sing it in English. He asked someone to write the words for him and he said he practiced one word at a time for months. As soon as he knew it by heart in English he tore the paper up and took every chance he found to sing it and share it. So, on a January morning, in terminal one, he again graced me with a soothing version of Silent Night proudly in polished English. Then, he said God gave him creative talents and showed me pictures on his phone of the paintings he created and the ornate cakes he decorated. He told me he creates one thing every day so as not to squander or forget the gifts bestowed upon him. He teaches guitar free in his home to young children who need soothing and suffer from anxiety. Max was a custodian. When I stopped to visit with him he was emptying trash into a large wheeled bin. Max was a musician and an artist and Max had an incredible story. Max would have only been that busy custodian to me had I not made a decision to open myself up to someone and make a connection. And, Max, well he was so much more than he first appeared. He was a survivor and an inspiration. He was the embodiment of loving life and loving connecting with others. Max was my sermon this Sunday morning.
My rapid trip to Durham was to see a friend, one I haven't seen in more than eight years. It is amazing to me how one can simply see a friend and pick up right where you both left off regardless of the passage of time. We fell right into step and I was reminded how much I miss our coffees and our office talks and our sharing of life. Too often I don't take these opportunities in life to reconnect. I'm too busy. There's always an excuse. Now, those of you who know me know there was also an opportunity to watch her son play basketball in the ACC in the front row of Cameron Stadium against powerhouse Duke. I cannot lie and say that wasn't a huge bonus to the situation. But, visiting with a dear friend and her now grown, beautiful and funny daughter and watching them both beam with pride while their son and brother played basketball was the highlight. What a great time. As horrified as I am that I may not get home today, I wouldn't trade any of it. I need to make more time for the great people in my life. I need to stay connected.
There were smaller decisions this morning. I chose to smile at the airline counter woman who was frazzled trying to reschedule angry passengers. I chose to stop and say thank you to the agent who took my ticket. I chose to talk to the airline agent who was literally running down frazzled moms with strollers to be sure they found their gates and tagged their strollers without further delay. I let her know I noticed the extra effort and knew passengers appreciated it. All responded with smiles and I hope I helped the craziness of their work in a small way.
So, this morning was crazy and I don't think it's going to get any better once I'm on the ground in Nashville. Mechanical issues and de-icing delayed our take off and I'm likely going to miss my connection. But, when changing my flight in the early morning hours, I specifically chose Nashville- a place I've never been. I guess that was the first choice of the day that led to my stretching and growing. It was a fortuitous choice as the other flight through Chicago was later cancelled.
My choices so far today reminded me of the importance of human connection and of stepping back and looking at the bigger picture. They reminded me I can only control some things and not all things. They reminded me to be open and to listen and to truly see what's around me. They also sparked something that's been missing in my life recently- an urgency to write. I couldn't wait to open my notebook while waiting for my first flight. Stories were born and I'm ready to write them.
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