Openness and Designed Encounters

I headed to the train station in Orange County to head north to LA during a torrential downpour about 10 days ago. The plan was to meet up with Greg, go get some dinner with him and Annette, and perhaps have a chance to see an adorable girl for an hour before she had to head to her graveyard shift at the clinic where she works. Of course, this is jumping into the middle of a larger story, which I'll share next.

But here's a great story within a story - the train never came. In fact, about 30 minutes before it was meant to arrive and take me to LA, the ticket agent told me she would have to refund my ticket fare because the train was stuck in San Diego due to flooding. Next train was almost three hours out. Ouch.

I scurried to find another way, but it was looking unlikely and dinner with Greg and Annette, and perhaps an hour with the adorable redhead, looked like it might have to be postponed. Until a sweet 45ish Latina woman walked through the front door, also quickly finding out that the northbound train isn't going to make it. "Fine, I'll just drive home then," she said. And of course, I overheard, or I wouldn't have written it here. "Excuse me, ma'am, umm, where exactly is home? Is it here in Orange County, or do you mean it's up in LA." "LA, why, do you need a ride?" "YES, please, that would be amazing, thank you so much." "Where are you headed?" "I don't know, but anywhere in LA would be great." "Hop in." Wow. WOW.

But here's the amazing part. I began to tell her about me, and the obvious question quickly came up. "What in the hell happened to you?" I don't think she actually used those words, but she would have if she wasn't being polite. And as I explained my spiritual transformation in March 2008 and the following dramatic changes in my personality and how that really led me to be in California right now on this pseudo-business trip, her eyes started to kinda well up, especially as I spoke about how angry I was beforehand and how (relatively) free I am of anger now. And she looked at me, and asked if I believed in God. I said sure, probably not in the way you believe, but I'm sure we're not that different.

And she said - "I've never really believed this before, but I think God brought us together today. I've been getting angrier and angrier every day. I can't get it out of me. I believe you are here to help me let it go."

And you know what? I think she's right. I shared my experience, and we talked about hers. I simply shared - forgiveness, giving up control, acceptance of yourself and others, watching your experience instead of identifying with it, love, laughter. And SHE shared - her work, her mother, her stuck life. And while I'll never know whether or not our hour conversation had a lasting impact on that wonderful woman, when I left the car I tried to give her some money for the trouble. And with a hug in her eyes, she said, "Absolutely not. You can't ever understand, but it is I who owes you."

And of course she doesn't. Because here's what's wonderful about it... It was free. It cost neither of us anything. Sure, she went a little out of her way to drop me off at the original train station I was headed for (which I actually arrived before the train would have if it hadn't been stuck in SD), but neither of us were really taxed. Instead, we JUST shared. Openly.

Openness. First mine in reaching out to ask a stranger for a favor. And then hers to offer a stranger a favor. Openness to the possibility that there's something out there looking out for us. Openness in sharing our feelings, experiences, problems, failures, guilt, shame, and love. Simply being open. That's all it took.

It's wonderful how much we can get for so little input if we just allow ourselves to be open to the world. Which, by the way, is actually a good segue into the larger story, which I'll write about, umm, tomorrow. Perhaps after I share a short meaningless metaphorical email I accidentally found myself writing to Greg the other day, the end result of I found quite amusing. Even amusing enough to share.