Background information: I often go running and/or walking at the local cemetery. I often pass an old man who parks his car in the same place and visits a particular grave regularly. We have oft acknowledged each other with a small hello and brief conversation (how are you, fine thanks and you?, enjoy your run, thank you!).
Tonight I went for a run (with very little running since it's my first time out after two weeks of a nasty cold), and I could see this man parked in his usual spot, standing by his car, as I neared that section of the cemetery. I didn't feel particularly in the mood for the usual niceties and I was loving my podcast, so I determined I'd just shorten my run a bit and skip that part of the track. However, as I kept moving I felt myself turning in the direction of that old man anyway. I don't know why I turned, but I sure am glad I did.
As I neared, I paused my podcast and pulled out my headphones (I always do when I approach anyone because of what I feel are obvious reasons but mostly involve the beauty of humanity and the necessity of avoiding rape). I don't know who said hi first or who kept the conversation going beyond that point, but somehow I found myself slowing, stopping, and chatting. I stayed for probably 20 minutes, watching and enjoying the way the sunset made the mountains look pink and beautiful with this old man.
I learned that the graves he visits are those of his wife and his parents, which are both near his parking spot (sometimes he says hi to his uncle, but he's on the other side of the cemetery). I learned that he traveled the world working often under CIA direction as an army colonel. I learned that his name is Bill. I learned that his wife was brilliant, with a bachelor's degree in biology, a master's degree in entomology (insects), and a PhD in fossil archaeology (!!). I learned that she spent five whole years in the hospital before she passed away. I learned that his big old house with three whole bedrooms feels just too big for him. I learned that he's started to enjoy cooking, now that he does it for himself all the time.
Bill learned a bit about me, too. He learned that I'm married, that I had a load of laundry going as we spoke (he jokingly asked if I had any interest in a job as a housekeeper, since he hates doing it), and that I drive a car that barely runs. That's pretty much all I surrendered about my personal life, though.
As it began to get dark, he told me I should probably hurry on home. I thanked him for chatting with me, and he responded, "You are the best thing that has happened to me all day." I told him, "Right back atcha. Same time tomorrow?" and he laughed as I started walking away.
I'm sure I'll see him again, and I really hope we can become friends. I suffer pretty badly from stranger danger (even though I'm supposedly a grown-up), so I cautiously shared ridiculously little about my life. But I learned a valuable lesson from Bill today: we connect with people only when we can permit ourselves to be vulnerable. I might have guessed that he visits his wife, but I never would have known his real and deep love for her if he hadn't taken the time to feel those emotions and relay them to me. I might have someday known his name if we continued our casual hellos, but I never would have known his story. And today, I am a better, more compassionate person for having heard parts of Bill's story. Thank you, Bill! Can I keep you around? I need somebody that reminds me to share.
It turns out that sharing really is caring, especially when the things you share aren't actually things.
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