Opening Your Eyes and Ears to the World Around You

Every time I go to Old Navy (which is more often than I care to admit), there is an older Middle Eastern looking man in the dressing room who unlocks the dressing room doors for you, and takes whichever clothes “didn’t work out” when you’re done to put them back on the hangers or fold them up and put them away. He’s always there. Granted, I’m typically there at the same time — somewhere between 10 am and 2 pm — a representation of the path that is crossed by the store hours with the hours my kids are in school. He’s pleasant, yet unobtrusive, mostly just getting the job done, but with a smile. Still, I felt like he’s been in my life enough through my increasingly frequent retail therapy sessions, so that the last time I was there, I said to him “Do you ever go home?” He laughed a modest smile that hid so much behind it, and said “No, not really,” only half joking. And then he added that he works at Old Navy every day until 2pm at which point he leaves and goes to JC Penney where he works in the Men’s Department until closing. I wasn’t sure what to say except to acknowledge that he must be tired — a trite and obvious response.

I went into my dressing room to try my clothes on, but I couldn’t help wondering what the rest of the story was for this man. Was he working so hard to just make ends meet for himself in one of the wealthiest counties in our nation? Maybe he was supporting his family, putting a child through college, or at least hoping to. What did he do in his native country? Was he a farmer? Or did he have a stall selling fruits and vegetables along side prepaid calling cards? Or maybe he was he a doctor, as many a taxi driver I’ve spoken to have been. Or a professor, or a lawyer, or one of many other white color professions that may have served them well in their home countries, but for which there is little reciprocity in terms of their credentials here in the U.S.

Alas, the clocked ticked, and by the time I was done deciding that nothing I brought in with me was going to work out, I had little time to investigate his life story. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one. Or any other person that I come into contact with for 3.5 seconds at a time in my day. It’s easy to treat every person that we are not intimately connected with as a cog in the wheel of our life — they are there to keep things turning, making things comfortable for the rest of us, taking our money at the registers, folding clothes we choose not to buy, making our food, and packaging it up for us to take home and feed to our families, sweeping floors, cleaning up after our kids have spilled more food on the floor of a restaurant than what went into their mouths. It’s so easy not to notice them. To go through life as if we are surrounded by ghosts who only give us the slightest hint of their presence through a smile here, an automated “have a nice day” there. But at the end of their shift, they go home and live lives just like we do, putting dinner on the table (or hoping to), wanting the best for their kids, wondering if they’ve made the right choices in life.

My Dad used to tell me that some of the most interesting people he’s ever met were taxi cab drivers. They mostly sit in silence, occasionally perhaps broaching the area of small talk, mentioning the weather or asking about where you are going. You might mention your upcoming girl’s weekend, or a business trip, or a night out on the town in which you opted not to have the responsibility of driving home. But, ask the driver about his story (and I’m not being sexist here, but let’s face it, most taxi drivers are in fact male), and the story you might hear could be one filled with adventure, success, sadness, and pride, all rolled into one. I still remember a taxi ride early one morning to the airport, and probing my driver a little revealed that in Afghanistan, he’d been a brain surgeon, but couldn’t get the proper licensing here to practice medicine, and still needed to support his family that included a terminally ill mother he was caring for. Sure, he could have been making the whole story up to increase the generous tip I had already planned on giving him, but there was such a resignation in his voice that I turned off my cynicism and accepted his tale at face value. For even if it wasn’t true, surely there was tragedy and hope in this man’s life that was worth valuing and believing.

It wasn’t just taxi drivers my Dad talked with. Everyone at the grocery store he frequented not only knew him by name, but knew his family and asked about them frequently, as did he of their families. To my Dad, every person he came into contact with was an opportunity for engagement, exploration, and mind expansion that was symbiotic. That approach towards life is a gift he has endowed me with, though admittedly, it’s one that needs constant fostering. By recognizing that each person has something to offer this world, and taking time to listen and find out what that might be from time to time is an experience that will brighten your world as well as theirs, and brings us all one step closer to understanding the humanity that ties us together.

How many times have you been at a restaurant, or in a store, where the staff didn’t seem to want to give you the time of day — they barely acknowledged your existence. It probably was infuriating. We expect our presence to be recognized by those around us, but how often do you recognize the presence of those around you, except in how they may do something for you? And yet, that’s the lot so many people face, day in, and day out, just moving about as an auto-matron of sorts, there to serve others without any acknowledgement that they exist outside of their current role.

So today when you’re buying your triple grande soy latte at Starbucks (oh, wait, that’s me), or stopping for lunch at whatever McBurgerBellFila fast food joint you frequent, or going through the checkout line with your milk, diapers, and fully cooked rotisserie chicken, remember that the person on the other end is a person worth knowing too. Smile at them, and when they ask you how you are doing, not expecting you to respond with any great fervor, shoot right back at them, and ask them how THEY are doing. Acknowledge their existence and let them know you see them. Because don’t we all really just want that? Don’t we all just want to be seen? To know that we’re alive, not just because we can feel sensations running through our bodies, but because another person can look at us and not just through us.

The world is a gift to all of us, as are the people within it. Let’s all take the time to celebrate that gift just a little more.