Connected by Crazy

I made a best friend the other day. Granted, the relationship only lasted about 30 seconds. Maybe it was a minute, I'm not sure. Nevertheless, for those few seconds we were the only two people in the world. The next thing I knew, she was gone.

Never underestimate the power of a chance encounter with a stranger.

(Source: Google Images) 

The day hadn't started off great. Well, actually the day started off just fine but shortly after waking it took a bit of a turn. As I was enjoying some early morning coffee and alone time, my peace was disrupted by a phone call from my beloved cat's veterinarian. The doctor apologized for calling so early but said that my Princess's blood chemistry revealed some fairly dire health concerns. My girl is quite sick and while we can't cure her, the vet felt the most compassionate thing we can do is make her comfortable so she feels better until the inevitable happens. That call and the subsequent trip to the veterinarian's office, with the unhappy cat in tow, changed the tone for my day. Although I'm not one for feeling sorry for myself, the truth is, I was decidedly sadder.

I couldn't just sit around and feel sad, though. There were things to do and life to be lived. I love my cat very much but she is, after all, a cat and not a human. I will do what I can to make her remaining days comfortable and when she dies I will grieve, but I've been through enough feline deaths and human deaths to know they aren't exactly the same. Life will go on and, in fact, on that particular day a lot of life needed to happen.

Anna was home for Thanksgiving break and she, Steve, and I set out to do a few errands. I needed to go to Costco. Of all things. Two days before Thanksgiving. Who in their right mind goes to Costco two days before Thanksgiving?  Apparently all of Denver.

And us.

The crowds were thick. Oodles of people were steering gigantic carts in front of others, cutting them off without warning, to grab a bite-sized sample of canned cinnamon rolls. People in motorized shopping carts weaved wildly through throngs of shoppers, as though they were being pursued in a high-speed police chase. Small children dawdled in the middle of the isle, dancing and singing to themselves while harried shoppers tried to navigate past them.

A typical day at Costco.

I wasn't overly bothered by all the mayhem. It comes with the territory. If you're gonna go to Costco two days before Thanksgiving, don't expect to shop alone. The problem wasn't the mass of humanity buying groceries, office supplies, and twerking Santa's. No, the problem was my very own darling husband who, for whatever reason, chose this time, this location, and this day to temporarily go insane.

I'm not entirely sure what was the actual problem. We were at the store to purchase food for an event he was attending. Right there, in the middle of Costco chaos, Steve's ability to make any decisions vanished. Along with losing decision making capabilities, he lost all capacity for hearing and considering my suggestions. Frustration, anger, and agitation all entered the scene as we stood, in the way of frantic shoppers, having a circular conversation about what to buy. Or not. Reasoning skills made a hasty, stage right exit. It went on and on and on. At one point Steve stepped away and Anna quietly said to me, "Is this weird, or is it just me?" My response...."So weird!"

I had no idea what was happening to Steve, but look, we all get nutty at times. I get it. He just happened to have chosen a very bad day and a very busy place. At some point in the ever deteriorating scene, he decided to purchase a pre-made Ceaser salad. Whew. We started making our way from the back of the store to the cash registers, navigating the human landmines grabbing samples like they had been deprived of food for days. When we finally got close enough to survey the lines and choose a lane to stand in, a man whom I'd never seen before in my life, sidled up next to me and said hello. I said hello back. He proceeded to stand there smiling at me like I should know whatever secret he held. I awkwardly smiled back.

OMG. Now what was happening??

Finally he said, "I see you have a salad there." Glancing into the cart I said, "Yes, I do." He proceeded to say, "I just heard on the news that there is an e coli outbreak and they are recalling ALL Romaine lettuce."  Seriously? We just spent 45 minutes in chaos deciding what to buy and now, just as we are about to pay for it you tell me it is contaminated?  I thanked the man for telling me, as Anna quickly looked up the information on Google and confirmed that he was right, the announcement had just been issued. Literally. While we were debating what to purchase, the CDC had put out a statement saying all Romaine lettuce was unsafe to eat. There hadn't even been time to pull Romaine from the store shelves yet. A defeated Steve muttered, "Well, I can't buy that now," and pulled the salad out of the cart to return it to the refrigerated shelves in the back of the store. Back to square one.

As we stood in the mass of humanity with endless lines to the cash register, I said aloud, "This is crazy." A woman about my age, maybe a little older, standing next to me, surveyed the crowd and offered, "Oh yes, isn't it?" I turned to her and gesturing to all the people said, "Oh, I didn't mean all this. This I can handle. I'm talking about my husband." A couple of seconds of silence hung in the air and then her eyes widened, she threw back her head and started laughing. Loudly. Her response sparked my own laughter and she grabbed my hands. There we stood, in a sea of harried Costco shoppers, two strangers, holding hands and laughing with abandon. Knowingly. Our souls connected.

We've all been there.

When our laughter finally slowed, she released my hands and off she went, immediately melting into the hundreds of people. Right then, right there. A stranger had changed the tone of my day.

My cat was still sick and my husband was still a temporary nut case, but in those few moments of laughter with a stranger, I knew it was all going to be okay. I'd deal with the cat issues as they came and my husband would eventually return to the sane, charming man he usually is. Spontaneous, unabashed laughter with a total stranger had been the release valve I needed.

Here's the thing. We forget how connected we are as humans. I didn't have to explain to my momentary buddy what had transpired with Steve. She just knew. Maybe not the details, but she knew. She had been there. That man who told me not to buy the salad cared enough to keep me from buying something potentially harmful. And that person who darted in front of me to get a tiny slice of ham, we had something in common too. Maybe not ham lust but...something. There is some experience or feeling we've both had that is a point of connection.

All it takes is a moment, a comment, or a small action to realize we are all in this together. Despite how it seems, there is more of love in this life than hate.

It is easy to get distracted by all the noise and fear and 'other-ing' bombarding us on the daily. Sometimes it just takes a burst of laughter with a stranger to remember.

We are all connected.

And our connection is love.

Vive la Difference

What kind of person do you want to be? The ones in the first seat, the second seat, or the third seat?

The other day I got an email, with this photo attached, asking which kind of person I want to be. The sender included the comment: "I believe I know the answer but had to ask."

I admit, I love being known. But really now.  Anyone who knows me could answer that question. Heck, anyone who's ever met me in line at Starbucks could probably answer that question. My first row way of living is a little hard to temper.

I've tried.

But it doesn't work. And it never will. Because I'm not a third seat person. Or even a second seat person. I've spent my whole life with my skirt blowing up and laughing about it. I don't foresee any significant changes as I get older.

At first glance you might look at those women in the third row and assume they aren't having any fun. Or, you might assume they are intensely thanking their divine Deity of choice because they aren't sitting next to those obnoxious women in the front seat. Either of those might be true.

Or, it could just be they have fun in a quieter, more subdued way. I don't actually have any experience with that, personally, but I'm sure it is possible. Some people do enjoy life quietly. I have a few friends like that. Not many, admittedly, because these are not the people who tend to seek me out as a friend. I don't think they are entirely comfortable in my company. I tend to make quiet people anxious. But just because they aren't like me doesn't mean they aren't enjoying life. There isn't anything wrong with them. They are more inward. Those women in the third row could be unhappy. Or they could just be quiet.

The women in the second row seem to be having fun although I sense something else going on inside them. Like maybe they feel a little self-conscious. Or maybe they are feeling embarrassed for the women in the front seat. It is a sure bet the women in the front seat aren't feeling embarrassed for themselves. Trust me. I know. If embarrassment is necessary, somebody else is going to have to do it.

Overall, those second row ladies seem to be enjoying themselves. Perhaps less outwardly, but that doesn't mean they aren't having fun. I know a lot of second row types. Some of my favorite people are second rowers. They approach life with joy, but a bit more reservation. It's just how they are wired. They can go to bed at night relieved that they didn't make fools of themselves but still feeling fully satistifed that they had fun.

I appreciate the second and third row ladies. I really do. Because life is richer when it is made up of all kinds of people. Difference is good. Everyone can't live life in the first row. If so, the world would be wild and noisy and forever teetering on the brink of outrageousness.

But, thankfully I do have some first row people in my life. I love them dearly. They get me. I know I don't embarrass them and they don't mind that I live life out loud. They live out loud with me. Where two or more first rowers are gathered....you won't find a third rower...but that's okay because everyone doesn't have to be the same or like the same things or want to be doing the same things.

Please don't ask me to sit in the third row. I simply can't.  And please don't expect those women in the third row to be in the first row. They can't either. It would only serve to make them miserable.

If you know a third row person, tell them you love them today. Don't be so bold as to hug them or anything and for God sakes don't make a big deal of it. But tell them you love them just as they are. All quiet and everything.

If you know a second row person, tell them you love them today too.  Go ahead and give them a hug, laugh a little, and let them know they are wonderful in what they bring to life.

And if you know a first row person, tell them you love them today as well. If you can get them to be quiet long enough. You might have to jump up and down. Clap. Yell a little. Spill something; they will be able to relate to that. Let them know they are wonderful, even in all their annoying exuberance.

Because we aren't all the same. And we aren't supposed to be. Life is made up of quiet and noisy and all that lies in between. Our lives are richer and fuller and simply better when we embrace people of all colors, orientations, personalities, and volumes. If we were all the same it would be a very boring world.

Respect difference.