an open heart

One of the things I often wish is…

I wish I could be loved by more open hearts.

I wish a sister could hear my heart, offer me into the hands of God for judgement, and just be there for me. Just look at me. “Hold space” for me.

One of the hard works of healing that has been asked of me us to take the wishes of my heart, and flip the script.

Ask myself how I am giving the things I want for me, to others.

That’s looking like a kind of hard thing for me right now. So I am playing with some different ideas.

When I go into a shop, or store, I am often leaving my phone in the car.

This keeps my eyes up, my head up. It pushes my heart into interactive mode.

I don’t really like it most of the time. It is uncomfortable. I have a pretty strong, entrenched belief inside me that people are scary and cruel, and will betray me at every turn.

Don’t trust anyone. Ever. The end.

I was heading to Bend, sans kids, the other day. I stopped at a “crispy chicken” place along the freeway, thinking I would pick up a few chicken tenders real quick, and get back on the road. Um. No. The kitchen was mayhem, and I hadn’t realized how long the wait would be until I had already paid.

Panic was setting in. There were LOTS of men around me.

Young sportsing highschoolers, looking all mangy and greasy who obviously hadn’t slept in a few days. Every. Single. One. Ordered. A. milkshake.

A bunch of retirees coming in for coffee.

And some dudes my age.

I played some inner tapes in my heart and head. Spoke to my heart and told it to open and make space for the people around me.

Pep-talked myself out of running to my van and getting my phone.

I made eye contact with one guy who’s path normally wouldn’t cross mine.

We both remarked on how interesting we thought those “clam chowder bites” looked. He didn’t want to spend $8 on the experiment (neither did I ) and asked if I wanted to order it and split the cost and order.

Oh, I thought to myself, he’s one of those people who like community. Or something. Maybe he was at a music festival?

Just to clarify, he wasn’t hitting on me. He was ACTUALLY making friends. He was living with his heart wide open.

It felt so weird. Uncomfortable but really, really good.

I learned that he loves the band Modest Mouse. And sure enough, he’d been at their concert in Bend. With his pal. Who looked like more of a square. Turns out his pal is a Quaker. And a “right kind of f***ing guy”.

What even IS a modest mouse? I wondered to myself. Is he self-depreciating? Does she wear a one piece instead of a bikini? Maybe he just kind of covers his mouse parts with his sweet base guitar?

 

 

There was this other band, did I like them? I thought about all Laurie Berkner Band and Josh Garrells I usually listen to, and assured myself that this dude and I lived on different planets.

He dropped some parts of his sentences and conversations, damage from drug use? I wondered, and then immediately chastised myself.

He used to cook crack, he tells me. That was a while ago. But then he went to jail and is in recovery. And now he cooks this thing. He pulled it out of his pocket. I think it is #37 on the periodic table, but I’m going to have to as someone who knows this stuff better. “I melt it down and then mix it with ? and pour it over bent up forks and stuff and it just does what it wants to do”.

 

 

He pulled a couple out of his pocket and handed me one. “Merry Christmas! I sell those, but I want you to have one” and then he said a lot of words about some things I didn’t understand. So I just smiled.

The food was taking FOREVER. People were mad, some were swearing. My new friend was cheering on the kitchen staff “just keep doing the next thing! You got this! F*** it, I know how to work in a kitchen, want me to come in and help you? Because I WILL” and he MEANT it.

His square, Quaker friend was getting impatient.

“he’s mad because I’m enjoying myself!”

“sometimes you just gotta enjoy the detours, ya know?”

Some of his more complex thoughts got lost in his brain, and I could see his shame and frustration that he couldn’t access the thoughts he was wanting to share. He covered for his mistakes, and filled in the gaps with swear words. I don’t think he exactly wanted to use them, but that’s how he coped. So I sat with that thought.

I gave him $5, since that’s how much he usually charges for this little tiny artwork, and he goes “how about $10, then, if you’re handing money out?”  I laughed at him, and said, you wish!

I will probably never see him again. I love his open heart. And I am glad I left that phone in the car.