Nothing about this man was out of the ordinary. He was a white man, maybe mid 60s of age, driving a white SUV of some sort... I wasn't paying attention. What I did notice were his wrinkles. That's how I know there was a lot of life behind his eyes. And so, I wondered about his life. Because I think that by wondering about other's lives add a level of compassion to our own lives. If we are considerate enough to recognize that we are not the center of this universe... that each person we pass by is the lead character in their own story I think we gift ourselves the opportunity to deepen ourselves.
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.
I don't know the man in the white SUV. I may never cross paths with him again. But I can tell you, I'm grateful for his existence on this planet. His presence today gifted me with a sweet reminder that everyone has a story, if only you take the opportunity to uncover it.
To growth, gratitude and grace~