Air of Humanity

The Lord works in mysterious ways.

That’s what the woman said to me with reddened eyes welling with tears, and I was once again reminded this was one of those moments requiring my full attention.  Strange that it came while waiting for the Red Line in the middle of the night.  Or, perhaps it is not so strange to have your attention drawn to a sign while traveling.  Unfortunately, signposts along life’s labyrinthine path are rarely written in plain English.

We meet people every day.  They surround us when we walk to the store, squeeze into the bus, or stand in line for movie tickets.  They are as common as the air we breathe.  For that reason, we take them for granted.  They become as invisible as the air we breathe; yet are just as vital.

So, when all the other people moved on from that cold train station, leaving this upset woman in the void with no one but me for company, she did what she needed to do.  She took a breath and started talking. 

First, it was a general comment on the weather to test the mysterious water that is conversation with a stranger.  I agreed that it was chilly but the winters in Chicago could be worse.  She seemed overly relieved by my response and went on about how hardy Chicagoans were.  She should know.  She’s lived in this city over forty years.

This, naturally, led to the reason she was initially compelled to speak.  Her day was one of those days we all have where nothing seems to go right.  It was as if the combined weight of the cosmos had fallen upon her and the pressure was unbearable.  All she needed was someone—anyone—to help bear the load.  So, I held my breath and did what comes naturally to me. 

I listened while she summarized the utter shamble that was the previous day.  I listened to her recall the loss of her pink scarf, which broke up the matching set with her hat and gloves.  I listened as she explained the scuff that marred her boots from a stumble on the slick curb.  I listened as the story went from innocent moments of bad luck to the tale of a woman stranded in an unknown part of town by people who were supposed to be her friends.  Her voice quivered with the combination of grief and anger that so often follows betrayal.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” she said, shaking her head at the improbability of it all.

“Yes.  He does,” I responded without really thinking about her words.

She recounted how she frantically wandered the dim, unfamiliar streets of the north side alone.  Her fear turned to relief the moment the poorly kempt Red Line station came into view upon rounding a street corner exactly one block east.  There it was like a shining oasis in the night and she knew she would find her way home.

It was at this moment she thanked me for listening.  She just needed to vent her frustrations to a sympathetic ear and I was, luckily, the only one around.  She took a breath and calmed herself.

Was it a lucky chance we were the only two on that platform at half past midnight?  I didn’t bring myself to consider this question until the last few blocks of my walk home thirty minutes later.  Was it coincidence someone desperately needing to talk would encounter someone needing to listen at the moment it was most vital?

The Lord works in mysterious ways.

It was at this moment I contemplated her words more carefully.  If you hold the belief, as I do, that we all have a purpose—a reason for being—then it isn’t too great a logical leap to assume our interactions aren’t without meaning.  Just as oxygen, nitrogen, and carbon dioxide come together to form the air we breathe, even our smallest, seemingly most insignificant relationships blend with our important ones to form our social atmosphere.

So, then, what was the point of this encounter?  I may never know.  It has been said that, when two people meet, one is meant to be the teacher and the other the student.  Often, we fail to realize these roles exist and the frequency with which they occur.  If we did, we all might be a little wiser.

It could be that the woman at the station needed to learn things were rarely as bad as they seemed.  Finding that place, and the quiet man willing to listen, was enough to restore a little faith within her.  Perhaps, that small bit of significance was all that was meant to arise from our encounter.  If that was the only lesson my patience was meant to teach, I am content.

However, the Lord works in mysterious ways.

By the amount of time I find myself thinking about that one sentence, it could be that I was the one in need of learning.  I have often pondered the frustrating nature of my existence.  My social anxieties have kept me suffocating in the thinnest layers of humanity’s atmosphere for most of my life.  More often than not, I feel more like an observer of the world than one who contributes to its habitability.

I have lived my life in a near vacuum, surviving day by day on the exhalations of overheard conversations.  My mind drifts on that current, imagining lives and relationships that exist nowhere else but in my own head.  Their words, their gestures, their contact with each other has allowed me to exist in their bubble of air, if only for fleeting moments at a time.

Then, there are the times my lonesome particle intersects that of another and my unique perspective allows me to see the significance in a seemingly insignificant social interaction.  When you’re deprived of air, even the smallest breath is a blessing.  Your lungs may still burn for more, but it is enough to sustain you for a while longer.  It’s enough to get the mind working again.

So, what’s it all for, then?  This bundle of text is a good place to start for the answer.  If I did not have the predisposition to mournfully shy away from social interaction, I wouldn’t have found solace in writing.  My dedication to this craft has only spurred me to pay attention to the details, especially when it comes to my fellow human beings.  It’s made me appreciate the little things and, in turn, they have inspired me to keep writing and to keep improving.

Therefore, when this upset woman took a breath and started talking, I was already prepared to listen.  Her story—how she got there—wasn’t important in the grand scheme of things.  The existence of our brief relationship to each other was tenfold more significant.  From it, I learned what we believe makes us weak is often that which makes us the strongest.

But, it all sounds a bit convoluted, doesn’t it?  Well, it is.  It’s vast and it’s intricate and it’s beautifully incomprehensible.  The lessons are rarely made clear with breath and voice because, as a teary-eyed woman once told me, “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”