Storytime with Strangers

The weekend has been bursting at the seams with activity which is a stark contrast to all of 2020, in which we felt fully convinced at all junctures there was risk in taking a breath outside our home. We spent most of our days and nights isolated as a family, which has made the return to community even more novel and has made it clear how much we need one another. I could not isolate myself in a cabin in the woods and find any version of contentment; I would go rabid with loneliness.

There is a richness in knowing others and in being known. Because we recently engaged in our school community more than we did last year during virtual learning, I’ve had the opportunity to hear so many new stories and backgrounds. My favorite thing about parents is that they come to the table as so-and-so’s parent, but in actuality lived an entire existence prior to becoming a parent.

I’ve met immigrants from other countries, a woman hired on as a journalist by a chance meeting on a train, a love-match made while on vacation in Spain, and other folks whose eyes alight at the mention of Patrick Rothfuss or Malcolm Gladwell; closeted readers are easily identifiable by the spark in their eyes at the mention of a book that altered their day-to-day existence which is only understandable if you, too, have struck off on the same specific adventure with that author and understand the cost of being unable to put it down despite the pitch darkness and encroaching dawn. I have met ex-professional athletes, spiritual wanderers, and deep, thoughtful people who have, through our conversations, asked me to rethink my own perception.

This is one of the things I value most about the story of others: the ability to question your own grasp on reality because voices which counter your own narrative so clearly illuminate your own echo chamber. The story of others is the opportunity to travel to worlds I will never have the time or resources to see; I have visited Saudi Arabia, the coast of Spain, and Western Africa through the experience of friends. I have felt the deep grief of a parent with a sick child and their steadfast hope in science and the miracles of immunotherapy. I have experienced marriage to a less thoughtful partner and the rejuvenation of the self after the demolition of an ill-conceived partnership. I have journeyed through the death of a parent and the vacuum which remains in the absence of the one person you can call mother. I have felt deeply the trials and tribulations of infertility and the silence of the home of friends who have given up hope that they will ever have the families they always assumed they may.

There are so many narratives I won’t get to experience, but there is so much more I can see and know through literature and deep connections with the interesting humans around me. Of all the blessings of the waning global pandemic, one I hold in highest regard is that which allows a group of near-strangers the opportunity to gather together and share the triumphs and tribulations of their short experience on this planet. What a wonder it is to be a human amongst others who have experienced such a full array of loss and living, triumph and defeat. What a miracle it is to live a thousand lives because those around me have made such courageous decisions and have allowed me the privilege of knowing those small pieces of themselves.

I have missed your stories. I have missed your wounded pride and glorious elation. I have missed our shared mourning, elation, and commiseration over warm cups of coffee. I am so very, very glad to share this space, this breath, and this moment with you.