A busy street is an exciting place to walk. Couples chat while many singles listen to music or podcasts on earbuds or headphones. Others talk to friends on portable devices, oblivious to the flesh and blood crowd.
I usually look at faces, perhaps because of my career as a clinical psychologist. When I go into grocery stores, I often say a few words to one or more employees. I also search for name tags to voice their names instead of shrouding them in namelessness.
My friend Keith and I went to lunch on Thursday. The front desk hostess seated us at the quiet table we requested. The miss recognized that the table needed to be moved to allow us more room.
The diligent employee was perhaps 25, slightly built, and pretty, but I mostly attended to her strength and thoughtfulness in gripping and pulling the table.
“My goodness, you are strong … and lovely, too.”
“Thank you.”
She was both, though I didn’t gaze closely at her since my buddy and I were in the middle of a conversation upon entry.
When we left 90 minutes later, we passed by the front desk again. I looked at her with purpose this time. The youthful woman possessed a pastel beauty, understated in her delicate appearance and unforced gift of enchantment. I could only say, “You are even more beautiful now.”
It was true. I viewed her in a way I hadn’t before—looking into her eyes as I do with many people, as if all others have vanished, and the world consists of only the two of us.
In a second, before I turned away to catch up to my friend, I saw the beginning of a tear in one of her eyes. She couldn’t speak, but her expression and the tear said everything.
Such moments come to me without effort. My friends know me as a serious man with an excellent sense of humor. When I look at them, they recognize they are being seen.
My life is complete, and I seek no lovers who are a third of my age, no matter their attractiveness—even assuming they are interested.
Between the seconds that opened and closed our lunch, Keith and I talked about the recent death of his oldest brother and other consequential matters. My conversations are spiced with more humor, as a rule. At the end of our meeting, I did something I now do with such friends.
I told him what he meant to me.
I do not say what others offer more casually. I am specific. My words tell these fellow travelers what I find interesting, important, or remarkable about them. If one observes the other in-depth, this is not difficult.
It is essential.
One might ask why I have begun doing these things—to compliment the young woman or to tell my friends what fine qualities I recognize in them and why I value them as I do.
In the past two years, I have lost six friends, acquaintances, or relatives: Cliff Levy, Don Osborn III, Lincoln Ramirez, Neil Rosen, Cheryl Huston, and Don Byrd. Three suffered long illnesses before their passing. I had not been in recent touch with them all before they died. Only with my cousin Cheryl did I speak of her importance to me and the reasons why.
Life is sometimes rather like a 40-minute Zoom meeting. It is free, an invention some of us use to catch up with others. Toward the end of our time, we might hear someone in the middle of their sentence, and the next word is suddenly cut off. Such is life.
Yes, I can buy more time on Zoom, but with all the people I mentioned, no amount of money would have achieved that end—stretching their lives and their loves, the stuff that made them special.
So goes a lesson I’ve learned about conversation, love, and time.
I do not seek your condolences and am not looking for a date. Nor should you think I am signaling some future tragic end.
This is about something else entirely.
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The 1929 photo is of the 14-year-old Swedish actress Ingrid Bergman. It is sourced from Wikimedia Commons.
This really makes me think. The kind of intimacy that it takes to tell someone how you feel about them makes me uncomfortable. I find it easier doing this in written form. However, I share your love of using people’s names. I know how I feel when someone uses my name, and I figure they are wearing name tags so I know their name so why not use it. Love the photo of Ingrid Bergman. It made me think of The Seventh Seal, but that is Ingmar Bergman! As always, your thoughts linger with me.
Thanks, Susan. You may yet come to a time when such intimacy becomes what is needed. Yes, the Bergmans are easily confused. Great film!!
We all need to learn this skill of helping others feel seen and heard as people. A rare talent!
It was not something I learned early, Tamara. The passage of time can be informative, if one pays attention, as you do. Thank you.
Thank goodness we can learn this if we choose to.
it’s all about the human connection
Yes, it is so, Beth. Thank you for commenting.
I’m very touched by your words and lesson. Many thank !
You are kind to say so, Martina. I am pleased that you were touched, as I hoped some would be.
:):)
Incredibly thoughtful, Dr. Stein. The gift of your words is beautiful, especially as you say, “My words tell these fellow travelers what I find interesting, important, or remarkable about them. ”
This post highlights the wonderful presence, sincerity and thoughtfulness you bring to the world. Thank you for sharing that.
Your comment is beautiful. Profound. Touching.
You are a beautiful soul, Wynne.
Grazie di cuore.
Thank you, Micaela!
Thank you for your wonderfully kind compliments, Wynne. I would say much the same about you. Be well.
Thank you, Dr. Stein!
I think you’ve highlighted the most important behavior right now…to remember to give those we encounter our full attention. Whether we’re meeting in passing and share a kindness, a heartfelt consideration – or a memory-filled, gratitude laden encounter over a meal. Lean in…say the words. Share what we think and feel and savor the magic in each day. Thank you for the reminders. 🥰
I imagine you have encountered clients, as I have, who never say those words and then feel regret. It is worse when such lapses occur with the ones we love the most. Thank you, Vicki.
Indeed, indeed. Appreciate your beautiful essay. Seize the moments. Say the words. Tell people they matter. ❤️
Feel such gratitude and profound happiness I met you, one day, by hasard, on my screen, because your subject was (if I remember well) Carlo-Maria Giulini, oh, magic jungian sincronicity!, caro dottor Stein!
Once again your thoughts touch me deeply.
Dare I unveil that I experiment exactly, exactly!, the same thoughts as yours without resembling some sort of arrogant?
I all time observe persons around me, talk to children, oldies and all ages in-between, love smiling to whatever life encounters bless me. And feel so happy.
I all time write, say to friends: ti voglio bene, ti sono grata, son felice per te, ti vorrei vicina, sometimes: aiuto! Sto male!
Far from home few days, I just now wrote three cards, just to tell friends the marvels of the day and: ti voglio bene, sei preziosa, torno presto a casa, non vedo l’ora di riabbracciarti.
Life is so short, few microseconds and pfuitt! Gone.
Dottor Stein, we won’t meet on this earth, surely in an other one as I belive it as certainty, but let me please write you now, now we are both alive: Lei è una persona meravigliosa, Lei vale per me un prezioso tesoro, Le voglio bene.
Abbia cura di Lei.
I am glad you wrote in Italian, even though I had to use an English translation. It seems we speak to the heart of each other. For that I feel much gratitude. Thank you, dear Micaela.
Very touching, Dr. Stein <3 One of the great things about being an older woman is that I can now tell a young man what an attractive person he is without him coming on to me 😀 For several years now, I also don't hold back in telling the people in my life how much they mean to me. As you express it so well: "Toward the end of our time, we might hear someone in the middle of their sentence, and the next word is suddenly cut off."
Yes, age creates dangers and erases others, although I suspect some of those young men recognize your doubtless attractiveness. At my end, I am at risk of being called a “dirty old man” and worse. Perhaps I am lucky that it hasn’t happened yet, but I still push my luck! Thank you, Rosaliene.
😀 😀 😀
Melodic Sound: “Love and Time” flows beautifully when spoken aloud, giving it an almost musical quality.
I am glad you found it pleasing, Retha. Thank you for saying so. Best wishes.