The Closed Fist

This week of being alive, I have been reminded to never assume. When coffee shop customers are demanding and short with me or are repeatedly negative, I usually assume they are being this way out of spite, and my mind places them on the “mean” list. And yet, it takes some people, especially those that are older and very attached to their routine, longer to warm up to people. Honestly, it took one couple four months before they would talk to me. They came in for coffee every day but would order, pay and walk away, not even answering “How are you today?“ or “How was your weekend.“ Just because they are closed doesn’t mean they are grumpy. Flowers are always more fun to interact with, but tightly clasped buds hold the potential to be beautiful as well.

One woman in particular, Sandy, seemed to be very demanding, always reminding me of the specifications of how she liked her latte, getting upset with me if I did not remember her last name (as if I do not deal with hundreds of customers’ first and last names on a daily basis). It seemed to me that she was looking for what was wrong in the situation. Sandy is the one to point out that the expiration date has passed on her milk, to point out the coffee rings on the dirty counter, and bring to my attention that there was entirely too much flavor in her latte. She would double check that it was sugar free, did hear her say she wanted sugar free? And by the way, there is an ugly bug crawling across your counter!

Two days ago, there was not a line in the coffee shop when Sandy came in, and there was more time to interact. By now, I do know how to spell her last name, (that’s e-w, not e-u) and I can make her drink with just the right amount of sugar free vanilla with a milk that has months to go before expiring. But I was on the register, ringing in her order and someone else had the task of making her drink. And we started talking. She actually asked me a personal question about myself. I have nothing to hide and answered honestly, which must have opened a door for suddenly we were in a deep conversation about change. She was telling me about how her son does not like change. How he dug his heels in and resisted when he was 8 years old and they were moving into a new house. I mentioned that it interested me how personality attributes like that cross over into children’s adult lives as they grow older and asked if he got better with change or if that manifested into the life he lives now. And she said, “You mean, you don’t know?”

“Know what?” I asked.

“My son was killed in Iraq.” At those words, there was a buzz in my ears that became deafening and I felt pushed back, pushed down, and in that moment, my eyes cleared and I realized why Sandy is the way she is. Her behavior towards me and others suddenly made perfect sense. Yes, I had heard of the death of the young marine with that same last name, spelled e-w not e-u. He is something of a small town hero here. But I had no clue he was her son. I was overwhelmed by compassion for this woman, and I realized, she, too, is human. We are all human, dealing with the complexities and death and birth and change that life sends our way. Difficulty, loss, struggle, these are all situations that cause us to naturally stress, tighten up, retreat within and become short with others.

The next day, when Sandy came in, she was different. Or perhaps the change was within me. I was different.

She opened with asking my coworker and I, “How are my two favorite coffee creators today?”

Strikingly different from any of our previous interactions, Sandy and I had a fun little banter and more sincere conversation, meanwhile, in the back of my mind I puzzled how I could have been her favorite all along when I had perceived her as negative and controlling. She is not mean after all, but a woman who has been through an incredible amount of loss. I am sorry to have judged her and have made my own assumptions.

The fantastic thing is that I will see her tomorrow, and the next day and the week and month after that, and every new day is a new chance to connect. As Rumi said, “ Out beyond ideas of right doing and wrong doing (judgment) there is a field. I will meet you there.”

These opportunities to change my perception are everywhere. When someone cuts in front of me in traffic, I won’t assume they are a terrible driver but in an emergency rush to get to the E.R. Or when the man on the plane next to me crosses his arms and looks down his nose at me in silence when I ask him how he is doing, I might acknowledge that it must be tough being paralyzed by fear of flying. And I will have patience with that quiet early morning couple. Knowing that one day, maybe months from now, hundreds of mochas from now, they might tell me all about their weekend and ask how mine was in return, at last ready and in the right space to open up and bloom.

The closed fist cannot shake hands, cannot receive. The closed mind cannot perceive another‘s humanness. The closed heart cannot receive love.