Glad to see you

April 11, 2016

Greetings from the greeting,

Some months ago I was visiting a woman who lived in a cluttered home with only two dogs as company.   From the moment I came into the house the woman was complaining about the dogs being under foot.  I wondered out loud why she kept dogs when they seemed to be such a nuisance to her.  She thought about it for a moment and then finally her face changed.  For the first time I saw her smile, actually laugh a little, as if the thought surprised her.  She said: “When I come home, they are always glad to see me.”

It is a universal need among humans I think.  We want to matter, to be missed, to be liked, to be welcomed in, to be acknowledged, cared for, to be loved.  Even a life filled with all of that can still be made better just by having someone greet you with a smile.

I bent over to rub the top of the baby’s head, sitting on the floor of our church, and he looked up at me and smiled.  There is something irresistible about this.  A visceral connection is made when a baby smiles at you.  No guile, no agenda, no question.  He was glad to see me.

I have read enough about child development to know that this may not be entirely accurate.  Babies smile for a variety of reasons which evolve during their first year.  Regardless, the reflexive effect on me was strong.  I smiled back, content to set aside science and soak in the moment.

I know this is common among all people.  Even the most self-assured, secure person will feel something when another person acknowledges them, or better, expresses a positive response to their presence.  Describing it this way sounds too clinical.

And so there is this. 

Yesterday I was out for a run, weaving through snowflakes, distracted by whatever minor things I had puffed into significance during the night.  The steel colored clouds clung to the horizon, just enough contrast to the barren trees to illustrate the frozen spring.  I muttered to myself about the snow swirling around me and thought of warmer places.

I watched another runner coming my way on the opposite side of the street.  Even from a distance I knew who she was.  She has a distinctive gait; tenuous tip toes, elbows pistoning in and out, weaving just a bit along the white line.  Even under layers of winter gear, from a quarter mile away, I recognize Jenny.

I have run past her a hundred times and she always whoops a good morning at me.  She is a mature woman, a respected judge in our community, but she carries a spirit of childlike exuberance that is infectious.  I had not seen her on the road in a while, which for runners of a certain age can mean a lot of things.  As it happens it was none of what it could have been and the same serendipity that separated us now allowed our paths to cross.

I saw from the change in her that she had spotted me.  I heard her yell my name, and she began to veer into the middle of the road.  As we drew closer her arms opened up, a dramatic wingspan, as if she were victorious again over the winner’s tape. I could hear her voice, not entirely sure of the words, but the tone, the message was clear.

I ran toward her and from ten feet I could see the huge smile on her face, her cheeks red from the cold, her eyes wide under the knit cap pulled down on her forehead.  And then we hugged each other good morning in the middle of the road.  It was a comical sight I am sure, both of us bundled up in winter gear, clapping each other on the backs in the brittle morning air, our breath hung in clouds around us.

Jenny was her usual irrepressible self.  “Isn’t it a BEAUTIFUL morning?” she demanded.  She bubbled over with news, just having run a half marathon with her brother the day before, laughing at herself, asking about me, then veering off to something else.  Less than a minute for the whole thing, and then she was running off, looking back over her shoulder to say: “I’m so glad I got to see you.”

I ran the rest of the way home in a better frame of mind.  Laughing a little at my own grumbling about the weather or my puny problems, reminded by her example of what it’s like to be your best self.  It wasn’t until hours later, when I bent over to touch the baby’s head that I recognized what had happened to me.

I would not be surprised if Jenny does not even know my last name.  We have known each other for years in a certain context and that is an excellent connection.  But even understanding the nature of our friendship, it is still incredibly uplifting to be greeted this way.  Jenny is authentic in her expression, and that I suppose is what makes all the difference.

What occurs to me in all of this is two things.  First, my day holds many moments when someone genuinely is glad to see me.  It is only my dulled senses, and whatever curmudgeon attitude I might have, that causes me to overlook them. 

Second, it seems to me that I might have been missing the opportunity to share what Jenny does so well.  She expresses her joy in living in many ways, but this is something that could be simple to emulate.  To be able to simply tell people in some way “I’m glad I got to see you.”  It’s so easy to do, and as I can attest, easy not to do.  But if a dog can do it for someone, surely I can.

Hope this finds you smiling back,

David