My goal was to read. I had time between appointments, which I intended to spend by catching up on a reading assignment for an upcoming conference. Successful reading for me requires either silence or a steady background of noise. Instead, I got alternating waves of the shouts and whispers commonly heard in the core - bursts of laughter, exchanges across the dining room, advice, criticism, and all manners of life lived out loud, interrupted by pockets of nothingness.
The woman at the counter trying to get the attention of the worker, whose back was turned, because she needed a tray for the drinks since she was walking home to her son and her mother. The job applicant's boyfriend jawing about when he used to work in this restaurant years ago and the people he used to know. The older couple, he in suspenders and she in a wheelchair, in loud whispers recollecting faceless names. The lady with the wide hat three tables away talking to me about the weather.
People's lives lived out loud, louder than I'm accustomed to. Details of their lives I didn't ask for, and didn't really want to know. "I don't care!" I wanted to shout. I didn't. Not really. "I. Don't. Care!!! So stop telling me, and everyone, about the details of your life that we have no business knowing."
The lady in the wide hat told me it was warm outside. Actually, it was cooler than it had been, and was quite pleasant. So I said something stupid: "Actually, it's not that bad out there today, for August." She insisted it was hot, and I kind of blew it off. I could have proved her wrong with the temperature and humidity data if I wanted to.
Here's what I missed: She had been walking all morning because her daughter failed to pick her up, and she was about to walk a couple miles at two in the afternoon to her son's job so that he could drive her home. She was right, and I was wrong - it was hot that day ... for anyone who had to walk for miles during the hottest part of the day. That yesterday was a more typical August day was irrelevant. It was easy for me to say it wasn't that hot because I had so bravely walked from my air conditioned car for the ten seconds it took to get into the air conditioned McDonald's so that I could buy myself a cold shake.
I was wrong because I didn't listen. I had the data to prove my argument, sure, but I never listened. I didn't want to because I. Didn't. Care. She had told me earlier about walking, about her life in that moment, just like everyone else in the restaurant had been doing so loudly. Unlike what I'm accustomed to, people were freely and loudly sharing their lives. And I wasn't listening or caring.
The woman told me something about her life: she had to walk because her daughter continually runs late, she has a son, he has a job (I even know which furniture store) and a car, he's kind enough to give her rides, and she had a warm walk ahead of her because she wants to get home. Her hat is wide because she regularly walks for miles in the sun. The cup tray lady has a son and a mother living in her home, which obviously is nearby enough to be within walking distance, and she was bringing them something cool to drink. Suspenders man gently cares for his wheelchair-bound wife. Job applicant boyfriend remembers his coworkers and is doing what he can so his girlfriend can find work, too. He had spent the last two years in Arizona and just came back to KC in May in order to work.
I was right on the statistics, but wrong on a person's real, daily life because I didn't listen. I was in a place where life's details are shared freely, people telling me about themselves, and I acted like I was in the quiet, "polite" place where you talk softly about coffee flavors or how good your seats were last night at the game or you don't say anything at all.
I'm not suggesting that everyone should share their lives more openly and with more volume. I am suggesting that we tune our ears off of our own frequencies and onto the frequency of those who are speaking. I could argue the effects of relative humidity (listening to her, but tuned to my frequency) or I could be part of this woman's distress (listening to her, tuned to her frequency). How hot I thought it was didn't change the walk she had ahead of her, and it sure didn't help her get home.
As if to salvage myself, I did muster a "stay in the shade" as she collected herself to leave. I had heard her, a least a little, and I entered into her experience, at least a little.
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