Who was that nice man?

Life. It defies any assumptions I might make about it. Have you noticed that? For example, you think the person approaching on the jam-packed sidewalk will go right, so you go right to avoid a collision…but they don’t, they go left while you’re going right, resulting in a near bump, a look in their eyes, a laugh and a buoyant, intimate, connected moment.

These moments offer themselves more frequently than we realize. I think they happen all the time.

I think…

…we ignore them because they’re little and don’t believe they deserve our attention.

…we let them go because we can’t control any situation with another person, and it’s too intimidating to think about what might happen if we tried to connect.

…we tell ourselves we don’t have time to find out why that stranger is standing in our path, our ready partner in an unrehearsed pas de deux of unknowns.

During the two weeks that I’ve been back from Africa, I’ve stood in lots of lines, called numerous customer service lines, returned merchandise and relied on strangers for help. In most cases, these individuals just had to do the job they were being paid to do. But you know how it is…some do those jobs well and others…well…they’re disasters. Each time, I faced a stranger. And each time, I got to choose what sort of stranger I would be to them: aloof, angry, cheerful, forgiving, understanding, demanding, ugly, exasperated, special, humble, light, or…you fill in the blank.

Today I experienced the power of choosing how I greet strangers…And what a day! I left the apartment at 6:15 to drive to JFK and pick up my big old 28 kilo suitcase, which Nathalie and Paul had shipped from Senegal. At 60 + pounds, this bag would not have added anything to my four-country tour of Europe before I returned to New York. I drove over the 59^th Street Bridge as the sky was turning pink, cruised through Corona Park as the sun backlit the trees with golden light. And at 7:15, I was at Delta’s Air Terminal in Cargo Area B. I was first in line talking with Teresa. She processed my waybill and then asked if I knew how to get to Customs, which is the second step of the three step cargo-release process. She pulled out a map with lots of intersections, lights, cryptic marks and one very large note that US Custom is five miles from the Delta facility where I was standing.

I was dismayed and it must have showed. The guy in line behind me stepped into our conversation and offered: “I’m driving to Customs, just follow me.” He not only led the way, but waited in the parking lot, waited while Officer Harris questioned me about what I did in Senegal, investigated me through Google, asked me to translate the inventory of my suitcase, which Nathalie had written in French…and then with a big beautiful smile, dismissed me into the custody of my escort Ronald and a “thank you for being a good American.” Ronald whisked me along the back roads to Delta Air Cargo, waving and shouting “good luck” as he drove away. He’d just given over a half hour of his finite life to help me out…no reward except a smile.

Teresa processed my paperwork, chatted with me about Kansas and New York and Christmas and crowds. She escorted me to the freight area, turned me over to another of her friendly, charming colleagues with whom I shared the next half-hour and stories about getting fired, secret shoppers, federal Customs regulations that will get you a $10,000 fine and six years in prison, and other interesting stuff. Then that big f’n wheelie bag appeared on a forklift. I threw it in the trunk and drove back to New York…no traffic problems, no tickets, no hassles and parked right in front of my own building. This is a lost but significant reference for those of you who have never lived or driven or tried to park an auto on a New York street…NOBODY EVER GETS A SPOT IN FRONT OF THEIR VERY OWN BUILDING AT 10:30 AM!!!

Am I assigning too much importance to these random acts of kindness? Maybe. Except that they all happened to me…and at a certain point, I wonder if repetition diminishes the likelihood that they are random. The simpler message might be that something wonderful could happen when we are trying to avoid a collision with that stranger facing us on the sidewalk. Go ahead and give ‘em a bump. See what happens.