Random - illness, heating costs, surgeries and fate

7:15AM, weekday, parking garage

I’m taking the elevator down so I can walk to my office. A woman, pretty blonde in her late 30s, enters and makes eye contact.

“Good morning.” I murmur with a quick smile before turning my gaze back to the numbers above the doors. Unless I leave the elevator first and hold the door for her to catch as we exit the building, my interaction with this woman is over.

“It’s not such a good morning for me.” She drawls with a shake of her long hair. “I’m still getting over my cold, and you know I’ve had it for 2 weeks now!”

Well, no, I didn’t know that. Does she think we’ve met? While I don’t remember all their names, I do recognize the people I worked with so far. And I’m positive that I don’t know this woman.

“My son, Billy? He’s just starting with it, and Julie, my oldest daughter, gave it to me.”

“It seems to be going around?” I offer hesitantly, feeling the need to say something.

She nods in agreement before continuing. I learned that Julie’s boyfriend, Jason (whose mother makes substandard waffles), had not been sick, but she was sure that the cold had come from him. Apparently the families had congregated for breakfast since Julie and Jason were growing pretty serious.

I was engrossed at this point. It’s like a book! Or soap opera! I’m learning characters and trying to get into some dramatic storylines when the elevator reaches the ground and I part ways with my new friend. She throws a “have a good day, hon!” over her shoulder, and I walk toward my office, wondering what will become of Julie and Jason, and hoping little Billy feels better soon.

2:30 PM, Saturday, grocery shopping

“Do you have gas heat?” I hear someone say, but continue my perusal of the granola bars. Variety? Chocolate chip? Oatmeal raisin?

I’m tapped on the shoulder and quickly turn to see a robust woman with gorgeous red hair, cut short.

“I’m sorry.” I say quietly, moving out of her way and turning back to the breakfast products.

“I have gas heat.” She states, and after a glance around, I decide she is, in fact, talking to me.

“Oh?” I respond absently. Finally deciding on the chewy peanut butter granola bars and putting them in the basket hooked over my arm, I’m ready to move on. I give her my full attention.

“My bill was $328 this month!” She informs me, and despite myself, I feel my face exhibit shock.

“Wow. That’s a lot of money.”

“I know! I told them I wanted the gas turned off.” She nods decisively, the florescent lights glinting off lowlights and making me wonder where she gets her hair done. I’ve been considering playing up the tiny hints of red that run through my hair. They used to be more evident, but my hair continues to darken as I get older and as the brown gets deeper and deeper, the highlights are getting harder to notice.

As my mind wanders, she relates the conversation she had with the gas company. They, apparently, were not so nice.

As I refocus on her problems and turn my attention away from my hair color, I have a question. I tell myself not to ask, but I can’t help it! I get drawn in easily and am curious.

“If you turn your gas off, how will you heat your home? Or cook?” I inquire. My understanding is that your appliances – furnace, stove, oven – are designed to utilize a specific kind of input. You buy gas or electric depending on how your house is built, right? Not on what the better deal is? I, for example, don’t have gas in my house – everything’s electric.

She shakes her head at me, so I wonder briefly if I’m mistaken about the gas/electric issue. “I’m not using it if it’s that much money!” She insists, and unwilling to argue about it, I decide to nod and smile before wishing her good day and heading off to find the yogurt.

10AM, weekday, walking to a meeting

I’m walking relatively slowly, hampered by heels, navy this time, that look snappy with my outfit. I think briefly that I should ask Charlie if the women he knows wear heels during the day if they have to hike to a meeting. If so, when do they change shoes? What if you run into a colleague on the way and they see your less-than-professional footwear? I decide that I should suffer through the heels for a little longer – I’m still meeting people for the first time, and don’t want to make a poor initial impression. Then I wonder if walking so slowly could constitute a poor first impression.

I’m gaining on a man who has the slightest limp, favoring his right leg just a tiny bit. He glances back at me with a smile and I return it. He’s in his 40s, I think. Handsome in a stately sort of way, hair graying, face lined from previous years spent in sun and smiles.

He stops to wait for me, and I make my inquisitive face.

“Hello.” I greet him, wondering if he needs directions and hoping I know the building he’s looking for. That only happens if I’ve had to go there for some reason.

“Hi! Are you going to the hospital?” He asks.

I nod. “Sort of. One of the research buildings around there.” I tell him, again lapsing into silence so he can ask his question.

He starts to walk in his original direction again and looks expectantly at me. I fall in step. We chat about his upcoming knee surgery, and I sincerely wished him the best on his preparation then recovery. I heard about his family – a wife and 2 children. I was given more details on his upcoming medical adventure, listening sympathetically as he explained how the operation was performed, some of his rehabilitation plans and his ideas for keeping up with work as he wouldn’t be able to continue his long hours for a couple of weeks.

I left him when I reached my building, hurrying up to the right floor to make up for the time I’d lost making another new friend.

I’m fitting in, I congratulated myself. I don’t mind talking to people now – have grown used to coming up with questions and comments when faced with impromptu conversations with strangers. I guess the increased friendliness may come with the warmer winter temperatures, I conclude, and resolve to try harder to participate in these little exchanges.

7PM, weekday, sitting at the library

I’m listening to my iPod on shuffle, skipping through songs I don’t feel are fitting for my super-exciting evening of literature searches. I get irritated with myself when I leave the floor that houses the journals, then realize I needed a couple more papers. It’s inconvenient to return and defeats the purpose of my careful lists and necessitates an extra trip.

So I was skimming through papers, organizing them into piles, checking relevant references to make sure I had all the knowledge for the specific stage of the project. I was in work mode – headphones on to discourage anyone from disrupting my carefully designed efficiency.

I honestly didn’t notice when she sat down, this woman who was probably near my mom’s age. I smiled at her before returning my attention to my music and journals. Then I saw her mouth moving out of the corner of my eye.

Biting back my initial irritation (after all, I was newly resolved to be more friendly), I turned down my music and shifted the headphones off the ear closest to her. I really wanted to go home and had to finish my skimming and sorting before that could happen.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. Can I help with something?” I asked, forcing politeness and patience to the surface.

“I just had a really bad day. I hate my job.” She then explained her educational background and how she ended up at her current position. I looked down at her book, science fiction, and wondered how she ended up in the journal section. There’s a reason for everything, I told myself. Don’t brush her off too soon, I warned myself sternly.

I decide to share some of my thoughts during a brief pause in her monologue. “There’s a reason for everything.” I say, out loud this time. Trite, perhaps, but somehow important at times when you feel like everything is trivial.

“That’s true!” She said, looking at me wide-eyed. “There’s always been some reason that I’ve done certain jobs or gone certain places.”

I nod, and glance momentarily at my papers to continue to sort them.

“I like to think I’m in control of everything. But maybe it’s all …” She trails off, and I meet her eyes again.

“Fate? Predestined?” I offer. “I don’t know about that. I think there’s a plan for all of us, but we do have free will. We can take any path at all.”

I start to wonder though. I can take any path, but I feel drawn to some rather than others. And even if I took one that felt wrong, maybe it ends up in the same spot. I have to get through a forest full of problems and tests, and there are many ways to walk through it. Do you end up at the same spot, or at least somewhere near it, regardless of which path you take? Does God continue to nudge you toward the best situations/people/goals? Lost in my thoughts and forgetting my sorting, I had to ask her to repeat her statement as I was sure I’d heard it wrong.

“I said,” she repeated, looking a bit exasperated, “that I wondered if the aliens had a reason for bringing me here.”

I grinned at her, then turned back to my work, adjusting the volume of my iPod to discourage further conversation. I don’t have to be in a large city or a blue state to find people who are different. And while I briefly wondered if I should engage in a conversation about Christ, I decided instead to smile at the unexpected and pray for her later.

"It'll work out. Enjoy your book, and maybe wait until tomorrow to worry about it." I told her, and she smiled at me before she walked down the stairs to the door.

The very randomness of people - of hearing their stories, learning of their worries - has charmed me thoroughly. It's different than I'm used to - the depth of conversations, the effort that goes into initiating them. I'm not sure there's a point to this post, much like I'm not sure why these people keep talking to me. But I'm starting to enjoy it - enjoy them - and it seemed worthwhile to note it.