As I stood waiting in the lobby of our downtown office building, a homeless man shuffled in from the dark, cold city street. His clothes were rumpled, and he walked with a slight limp. Over one arm, he carried a plastic bag with his meager belongings. I noticed that the glasses he wore were skewed to one side, missing part of the frame that was meant to hold them up.
The security guard at her desk looked up. Her face softened as she spoke, “Good morning Roger. Are you okay? Is there something I can do for you?” Roger peered behind his tilted glasses that were beginning to fog in the heat of the lobby. There was a sadness in his time-worn face. He said he had lost his medicine and couldn’t get the ATM machine to work. He was cold and he was tired. I stood there frozen as they exchanged words, not wanting to be a part of their conversation. Not wanting to get involved. I was apprehensive. I wanted to leave but instead, I looked at the floor, shuffled my feet, and waited. The guard told Roger to have a seat in the lobby and warm up.
Roger nodded silently, shuffled over to an uncomfortable-looking chair, and sat. The guard told me that Roger often lost his medication. That he didn’t have any family, and no one checked on him. He had a few “friends” who would come around when Roger had money, but they didn’t treat him very well. She said he was a nice man but that most people thought he was just a drunk on the street. Then she looked at me and said, “Everyone has a story. I just try to help out the people that I can”.
I got on the elevator and headed to my office and thought about what she had said. We all have a story. Every single one of us. And, we share our stories in different ways. Some good, some not so good. Some share their story through anger and aggression. This is not an excuse for poor behavior but simply recognition that their actions tell a part of a bigger story that we might not know. Some of us tell our story by standing on the sidelines, not wanting to become involved. We tell our story through our action and our inaction. We tell our story by how we live our lives.
How we tell our story, how we communicate, how we treat others, tells the story of who we are. Of what we think is important. What is valuable to us and what is worthy of our time. When we take care of one another, extend a hand, help someone out, it tells the story of who we are in a most humble and sincere way.
We are all storytellers. Including the guard at my building. I saw her tell her story in how she extended compassion to the man off the street. I saw it in her face, I heard it in her voice, and I witnessed it in her actions. If only we could all be so respectful and giving. If only we too could share our stories in brave new ways that pull us together rather than tear us apart. If we could get over our own doubts and fears long enough to give more of ourselves. If we could shine our light so bright that we could illuminate a path for others to follow. If we could open our hands to someone in need and in so doing realize that we have opened our own hearts. If we could do all these things and more, that would indeed be a story worth telling.
