Truth In Stories

“Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others, past and present. And by each crime and every kindness we birth our future.”

Cloud Atlas

I noticed him when I came into the Tim Horton’s. I generally don't drink their coffee, but they often have better wireless and in the age of a mobile office sometimes you have to take the connection over the caffeine.

On the seat across from him was a white shopping bag that looked like it would be heavy to carry. He was clearly waiting for someone. There was a sense of anticipation in his eyes and a little tension in his face. Our eyes met and I made a lame attempt at a smile. He returned nothing. I suppose that’s exactly what a blank stare is like. The look turned to suspicion. Perhaps in some odd way he thought I was a threat. There were no crumbs on the table and no empty mugs. I wondered if he was just temporarily camping out from the cold and the snow. A rest period if you will.

By the time I had ordered my drink he was asleep upright in his chair. The paper in front of him was the Metro. Not a preferred choice out here in the suburbs. I was drinking mint tea. It helps to settle my stomach. I sat down, opened my Mac and began to type, thumb through files, answer a few calls and stayed busy. I had plenty to do and didn't want to be interrupted. I looked over and this time his head was bowed. His hands were clasped together, but I don’t think he was praying. How could I not wonder what his story was?

I felt compelled to ask him about his day. I wanted to know what was on his mind. Maybe I should have just sat down and tried to start up a conversation. I didn't though. I had my own family to get home to. And besides I needed to pick up a few stocking stuffers at Walmart. Christmas was approaching. Didn't Christ say to outspend and not love your neighbor? Or was that Marx? Not sure.

I arrived at 4 pm. He had no cell phone. Nothing to read or do, but sit silently still. He barely moved. It was 5:26 and he had fallen asleep again. His hands still folded together. 86 minutes and he didn’t make a noise and he hadn't said a word.

When he woke up the third time there was still no smile, just big eyes with no tangible expression. He reminded me of people in hospital waiting rooms. Worn out because someone they know and love is hurting in another room and there’s nothing they can do, but wait, sleep and flip through old magazines that are missing their covers. The deadpan look was still firmly planted as he continued to look out the window.

Rod Stewart was playing overhead - Bette Davis Eyes. Now that’s funny. Talk about a story. As the over confident Stewart continued to rasp away on in his oh so sexy seventies voice, a local politician I know walked in. Jeff’s his name. Today it looked like he’d been carrying around several challenging stories on his shoulders. At least the weight of town council. By the looks of it he and was waiting to unload them at a moments notice. We’re all way too busy. We shook hands and said hello. I voted for Jeff in the last election. He won by 144 checkmarks. That’s fewer votes than characters in a tweet. Now that’s a story.

The man I still didn't know continued to gaze out the window. Same look, same anticipation. Still waiting for someone who by now he must know wasn’t arriving. I couldn’t really tell if he was in pain, but it sure looked like it. Pascal was right. “The heart has its reason that the head cannot know.” Either way his story needs to be told - to someone.

“We are all responsible,” said Dostoevsky, “and I more than the rest.” It’s a paraphrase by a French philosopher named Emmanuel Levinas. He’s tough to read, but one of my current favorites. Levinas thought that our lives were directly connected to others because of what he referred to as a face-to-face relationship. This is where ethics can begin. We have an obligation to others, in other words. Most existentialist philosophers would tell you that you can’t know yourself except in relation to others. Without them we are not us. We are not we. We need others. If that’s true, how should we then live?

Don't we all have stories populated with memories? Don't we all just need to be listened to? Aren’t we all just looking for some friendly encouragement, a bit of loving affirmation or a warm embrace?

Ghandi said “The best way to find yourself, is to lose yourself in the service of others.” I’m not for a second saying it’s easy to live that way or that you even should. It’s an individual’s decision to be sure, but isn't it interesting how easily we seem to turn a blind eye to others and so readily walk away. It’s so much simpler that way.

I don't like the paradox I live in my own life. I don't like the contradictions I find myself accepting from day to day. The complexity of it all can be a little overwhelming. But if Levinas is right then shouldn’t I be paying more attention to others? Shouldn't I be getting more involved. Not fuelled by guilt, but through conviction and generosity. If true then that can only energize, inform and empower me in return. Finding myself through others.

I didn't say anything to the man I sort of met the other day. I never found out his name, but I will remember his face and his white plastic bag. I still wonder what he was carrying inside.

Probably just another part of his story.

December 2014