I've had a horrible couple of days for reasons that I won't share on a blog, too personal, but there is this amazing thing out in the world, especially New York, normal human kindness.
The setting:
I'm having a liquid lunch because I have to deal with my personal unpleasantness and I need to relax and resort my thoughts. I do it best at bar. This is strange to a lot of people but perfect for me because I am capable of shutting out outside influences while simultaneously benefiting from being around other people. A woman next to me asked if I was okay.
Sidebar: do you know how nice it was to have someone, who isn't bound to me by friendship/history/love, to ask how I am. I spend most of my life asking how other people are. I am crap at asking for help and favors. I am extremely independent, which I love, but it makes it extremely difficult to ask for help. Especially when I should even for the most normal of things like moving. Sometimes, well more like all the time, I resent people for always asking someone else how to do something as opposed to figuring it out for themselves.
I told her that I wasn't because I'm not. I'm extremely honest - anyone who knows me knows that. My heart is on my sleeve and occasionally it's inconvenient because my upbringing and the majority of society isn't all about expressing your true feelings all the time. But hell that's who I am.
She shared her story. I shared mine. It was nice. Not because she's a complete stranger I'll never see again, trust - I have told plenty of personal things to someone betting on the fact that I won't see them ever again, but because she understood.
Her first personal tragedy trumped mine, I told her as much, but for the second one I definitely prevailed. It's not a competition but a reality check.
It was a refreshing moment. Because despite the crazy immediate gratification of technology and the ability to share every awaking minute of your life to strangers and those known - people still care about each other. On a very human level.
Maybe my shitty day was written all over my face but I think it had to do with my face mirroring her own.
I was at my Coach holiday meeting and one of my managers said (not exact words but the sentiment was the same): when you have a feeling a deja vu/intuition (expressively when you think someone is shifty/shady - we were talking about loss prevention aka stealing) it happens because you've seen it before. While she was not describing my current situation, the same thread of thought rang true.
Yes, I had been crying. Yes, I had been having difficult conversation after difficult conversation. But it takes one to know one. Misery is a human emotion and it's difficult. Also extremely recognizable.
I don't hide. I am who I am.
Her unexpected kindess was more than appreciated.
I've had this conversation a thousand times since I moved here - New York is a kind a place. People will help you. Yes, people are blunt. Yes, people will tell you to fuck off if you are in the bike lane and you're not on a bike (true story). Yes, some perceive this as crude. But what it really is?
Honest.
The setting:
I'm having a liquid lunch because I have to deal with my personal unpleasantness and I need to relax and resort my thoughts. I do it best at bar. This is strange to a lot of people but perfect for me because I am capable of shutting out outside influences while simultaneously benefiting from being around other people. A woman next to me asked if I was okay.
Sidebar: do you know how nice it was to have someone, who isn't bound to me by friendship/history/love, to ask how I am. I spend most of my life asking how other people are. I am crap at asking for help and favors. I am extremely independent, which I love, but it makes it extremely difficult to ask for help. Especially when I should even for the most normal of things like moving. Sometimes, well more like all the time, I resent people for always asking someone else how to do something as opposed to figuring it out for themselves.
I told her that I wasn't because I'm not. I'm extremely honest - anyone who knows me knows that. My heart is on my sleeve and occasionally it's inconvenient because my upbringing and the majority of society isn't all about expressing your true feelings all the time. But hell that's who I am.
She shared her story. I shared mine. It was nice. Not because she's a complete stranger I'll never see again, trust - I have told plenty of personal things to someone betting on the fact that I won't see them ever again, but because she understood.
Her first personal tragedy trumped mine, I told her as much, but for the second one I definitely prevailed. It's not a competition but a reality check.
It was a refreshing moment. Because despite the crazy immediate gratification of technology and the ability to share every awaking minute of your life to strangers and those known - people still care about each other. On a very human level.
Maybe my shitty day was written all over my face but I think it had to do with my face mirroring her own.
I was at my Coach holiday meeting and one of my managers said (not exact words but the sentiment was the same): when you have a feeling a deja vu/intuition (expressively when you think someone is shifty/shady - we were talking about loss prevention aka stealing) it happens because you've seen it before. While she was not describing my current situation, the same thread of thought rang true.
Yes, I had been crying. Yes, I had been having difficult conversation after difficult conversation. But it takes one to know one. Misery is a human emotion and it's difficult. Also extremely recognizable.
I don't hide. I am who I am.
Her unexpected kindess was more than appreciated.
I've had this conversation a thousand times since I moved here - New York is a kind a place. People will help you. Yes, people are blunt. Yes, people will tell you to fuck off if you are in the bike lane and you're not on a bike (true story). Yes, some perceive this as crude. But what it really is?
Honest.
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