Sometimes, a girl just needs some ice cream. So, instead of bailing when I saw the twenty three people in front of me, I decided to wait in the epic line for the good stuff. As I got closer and closer to the door concealing the freezer cases that held the mother load of taste bud satisfaction, all I could think about was one flavor. Salted Honey Pie.
The line poked on and finally, I was inside the shop. Scents of freshly baked waffle cones wafted all around. I casually leaned to one side then the other, hoping to confirm that my flavor was indeed teed up and ready to supply my giant scoop of heaven, but even on my tiptoes, I couldn't quite make out the flavors.
At last, I was up. "Do you have Salted Honey Pie today?" I asked with the enthusiasm of a three year old girl in pigtails. The woman looked around and then sadly announced that they must not have that flavor in the cases today. And just like that same pigtailed three year old, my smile slid off the front of my face faster than a melting cone. "What about your pints?" I volleyed back, desperation in my voice. She shimmied her way over to the back freezer, and with a victorious twinkle in her eye announced, "Got it!" "Do you want dry ice to get it home?" she inquired. Well, since it is Atlanta, in the not quite summer, but who-are-we-kidding-it-might-as-well-be-summer springtime, I figured a "yes" would be the only way give my little pint of goodness a snowball's chance in... Well, you know.
And so the process began. First, the big giant gloves. Next, the butcher paper was drawn and torn. Placing, folding, wrapping, securing. "Be very careful not to touch the dry ice with your skin," she warned. "It will burn you, if you do."
I had to choke back the laugh as she said this. This sub-zero block of ice was looking resoundingly like my heart. Sometimes, no matter how much you try to have faith and optimism and hope, you still feel like a punching bag. You pray and pray and pray and are answered with an ex standing in front of you wearing a wedding ring, when all you wanted to do was pick up a new phone.
When you get hit enough (or perhaps eat too much red meat), sometimes you start to get angry. What am I doing wrong? What don't I see? What is it you (God) want me to learn that I am clearly not learning? Why are you torturing me?
So, the feelings build with nowhere to put them, and then you become numb.
My friends all have their own lives pulling their attention in different directions, and when I do get to talk to them, many times, I don't actually get to talk to them. I listen. And listen. And listen. I'm pretty sure I could clench the gold if listening ever becomes an Olympic sport. Don't get me wrong. I love supporting my friends and always feel so honored when they open up to me, but sometimes, I need to be heard too. And only heard.
My dad is just starting to learn, after nearly 48 years of marriage, that keeping his mouth shut when my mom needs to vent is like a super power (it's been a hard road, let me tell ya, cause he's a fixer through and through). Nonetheless, he's learning that if her vent opens, his closes. The less he says, the better off he is. Ask questions, nod, grunt, but don't advise, especially when you don't have a clue what the other person is going through. No "shoulds." No "you need tos." No "let me put your insignificant problem in perspective by telling you how small it is when compared to someone else's." We all do it though. We offer our advice. We throw out some opinions. We want to help, to fix, to soothe, but sometimes unsolicited wisdom is anything but wise.
Most of us have heard some version of the story reminding us how everyone has their own cross to bear. If you had the chance to switch yours out and knew what other people were carrying, you would gladly pick up your same cross again (instead of theirs). I don't doubt that to be true, but it also drives home another important point. Our problems may not be equal in size when sitting next to each other in a line-up, but the people who have them are equals and what is important and dear to your neighbor is just as valid as what is near and dear to you.
So that's my message folks. Every man, woman, and child that walks this earth battles with their own set of problems. Just as no person is better than another, no struggle is any less valid than another, and most importantly, we all deserve to be heard. Sometimes even the warmest of hearts goes through a period of extreme cold and I think that is okay too.
"How do I get rid of it? " I asked my ice cream expert as she handed me the bag of dry ice that was protecting my pint of goodness. "Open it up and give it some time," she said. "Trust me. All of the cold will evaporate, you'll see."
“Authentic listening is the generous act of giving someone the space to be exactly who they are and exactly who they are not.”