I met my husband and three children at O’Charleys three weeks ago before we surprised the kids with a movie during the grand opening celebration at the Carmike movie theatre. I hadn’t seen the kids all day, so they began telling me about their school day as we were seated.
I always take an account of the people around me in almost every situation I am in. I disregard the atmosphere and circumstances to watch people laugh together, to see old married couples sit in silence, watch parents feed their children or dance their fingers over their phones.
On this particular evening, to the left of our table, a round gentlemen dressed in all black with a white square near the bottom of his neck sat alone. I checked the other side of the table to see if a menu was awaiting another guest. And then, as the waiter placed salad and rolls in front of him, I realized as a priest, he must eat a lot of meals alone.
It didn’t take me long to tell my husband I thought we should invite him to eat with us. And he smiled the way he does when I make a suggestion like this. He knows how awkward the conversation would be. I would go over to this man, point out his solitude, only to ask him to sit at a table of strangers for chit chat.
I like chit chat.
I didn’t go over to him, but a gamut of emotions hit me all at once. I pictured this man eating countless meals alone at restaurants at least once a week just because he’s taken an oath not to marry because of his job. I became angry with his congregation for not inviting him to dinner at their house while they sit at their homes with their families.
And then I also worried that if I brought attention to the fact that he was eating along, I may make him uncomfortable. Maybe he wanted to be alone in that moment.
I pictured holidays alone, and thought about inviting him to my house. Nights alone. He could sleep on our futon. Morning coffee alone. I’d meet him at the coffee shop. These are real thoughts I have. It’s probably not even right for me to say he’s lonelier than the couple staring through each other or the parent on his phone. I’m sure on some account, all these people are lonely.
Even though I have everything I’ve ever dreamed of, I get lonely too.
So I didn’t go over to invite him to my table because even though this overwhelming feeling draws up in me (and I’ll be honest-I’ll never forget this moment), I’m not sure if it’s the right thing to do by anyone’s standards but my own.
I don’t know if these thoughts cross anyone’s mind. I do know the mixed looks I get when I act on or even speak some of my thoughts, though. There’s the “there she goes again” look. The “you’re so thoughtful” look. The “you’re going to get kidnapped” look. The “I really like that Dani” look. And finally, “You’ve made me feel uncomfortable,” look. All five of these looks and even words come from the people I believe understand me best.
When I made my weekly trip to Meijer in January, I saw a disabled woman struggle to get dog food in her cart. I just watched her as I passed because I felt like in a politically correct society, I would make her feel like she couldn’t do things herself if I stopped to help her. I ended up behind her in the checkout line. With almost $200 of groceries on the belt, I watched as she struggled to come up with the money to pay for $24 of groceries. I didn’t want to make her feel like she couldn’t take care of herself so I remained silent.
As I walked outside to the bitter cold, she stood near the front of the store. I asked her if I could take her home. We cancelled her cab, and now every week, I make a trip into Champaign so she can go to the grocery store without calling a cab.
She smiles from ear to ear when I pull up in her driveway. She tells me stories about her friends, her dogs and her service at the food pantry. She often tells me that she loves me, and gives me a hug before we part.
Before I go to get her each week, I think of the laundry list of tasks I have to complete, and how I could really use the next hour. But when I see how much that hour means to her, I know it was the right decision to overturn this social norm because she, like every single one of this in this world, just wants to be thought about, belong and be loved.
The fear of overstepping social norms isn’t just something I feel towards strangers. In the last month I have really questioned the way I love people in both feeling and deed. Most of the time when I see people, I feel like a dog seeing it’s owner after being home by himself all day. In nearly all circumstances I hold myself back, though. The luster I feel is often endearing for a moment, but later deemed inappropriate. I’ve learned people prefer a soft, warm approach when being greeted. Honestly, I do too.
Even today I mulled over the best way to tell my daughter’s teacher that I think she’s doing an amazing job. I wrote an email three times only to erase it. I wrote a letter to the principal. Erased it. Then finally after talking face-to-face with her, she got the watered-down stuffed in-the-box version because that sort of thanks usually gets the best response. Her face lit up for a minute.
I can’t tell you how many times I just want to grab my loved ones by the face and tell them how blessed I feel to know them. And I can’t tell you how many times I want to just strike up a conversation with a stranger to listen to their story. And every time I pass a person holding a sign on the side of the street, all I really want to do is put them in my car, bring them home, let them take a shower, feed them a meal and buy them new clothes. But I don’t do these things.
I don’t do these things because there are rules. People have boundaries. This whole world has boundaries. And so I’m constantly gauging the appropriate balance. What sorts of interactions are too much? What sorts of interactions are wrong? Do I just see, think and feel things differently than others?
I keep thinking maybe my excitement for people can be useful in a world where we either choose to be lonely or are lonely because of rules or disconnect. I keep pushing the envelope of comfort for those around me. I keep telling myself that we all just want to belong, and that everyone needs a safe place.
All I know for sure is this: I only get one life, and I don’t want to lock up everything I think and feel. But at the same time on some level I want to be understood for who I am rather than how I measure up to what other people do. And I don’t want to stuff my enthusiasm and genuine care in a box anymore.
Let’s be honest. We all feel good when we watch videos like the one I’m posting below. We think what a genius! I want to go sit in a ball pit with a stranger! I want to play a getting to know you game! And it’s because we are all starving for a connection with someone. A moment for someone to know us. A moment for someone to connect with us.
We don’t need a ball pit. Look across the table. Across the hallway. Look at the person next to you. Step outside your boundary and into their boundary and share for a moment.
