Sometimes, life unexpectedly shows us little glimpses of the lives of others.
A few months ago, I was completing some volunteer work for an inquiry class when something very particular happened. It was a completely normal day, and, had I not paid attention, none of what happened would have mattered.
My job as a volunteer that day consisted of stapling together all the pages of a monthly newsletter. My eyes kept wandering to the clock in disbelief at the sluggish passing of every second. Was it really only five O’Clock? I tugged on my scarf, trying to keep myself conscious.
The scarf reminded me of so many things. I had bought it in Florence a few years back. Florence is one of those breathtaking, poetic cities that should be put under a glass case, so that it can never be dirtied or ruined. The smell of cheese-filled pasta and the gentle, ancient beauty of the architecture made the city magnificent. Every time I wore that scarf, I felt as if I were transported back to those small, stony streets.
As I drifted back to reality, my eyes wandered back to the stapler, and I let out a long heavy sigh. And, right then, a woman walked in. I don’t remember her name. In fact, I would never have noticed her if it weren’t for her striking resemblance to my grandmother. She was tall and heavy-set. Her hair was short, wavy and gray. She came in pushing her wheelchair; she had difficulty walking.
The first thing I heard this woman say was, “God, I hope it doesn’t snow tonight.”
Slowly, she walked into the shelter to use the telephone. A little later she came out, “The priest is not picking up. When do you close?” The girl next to me said, “It’s too late now. He’s probably not there. You can try calling again tomorrow. We work until six.”
And that’s when it hit me. Looking at the woman, I realized how different time had been for the both of us. There I was, wondering when I would go home, make hot chocolate and turn on the TV. And this woman, this poor woman, had nowhere to go, nowhere to stay, nowhere to sleep.
The woman just kept repeating, “I hope it doesn’t snow tonight. God, I hope it doesn’t snow.”
I looked at my scarf as she said it. Suddenly, I felt ashamed to have worn it; it was burning on my neck. The streets of Florence disappeared from my mind, and all I thought about was 11th Street and how this poor woman would have to make it through this winter night and, probably, many others.
As the clock neared 6, it began raining ice. I ran to my car and quickly turned on the heat, but all I could hear in my head, what seemed to be coming from the heat vents of my Chevy, was the woman’s voice: “God, I hope it doesn’t snow. I hope it doesn’t snow.”
I don’t know what happened to the woman, but I have thought about her often since that day. I have thought about how lucky we are to be able to go home and make hot chocolate, and to receive a wonderful education. In life, anything can happen, and there are a million sides to every moment. One minute meant more to someone else than to me.
It is important that sometimes we step out of our lives, turn down our iPods, get out of our Chevys and see how different people experience the world. We need that perspective.
We need that closeness so we can want to understand people for who they are and not want to understand them just because they remind us of someone we know.
The truth is, we can get so busy in our own minds, caught up in a million different places, that we fail to notice important moments that happen right in front of us.
We can do this by paying attention. Millions of little moments like this happen every day, moments, just seconds, that give us a glimpse into someone else’s world. If we pay attention, we might just understand them and even learn from them.
Dorotea Lechkova is a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences.
