Along my career path, I have been in positions that enabled me to meet, literally, thousands of people.
During my days with the Long Beach Marathon, I’d talk to people from all over the state about their running, hobbies or life issues. When I was an event planner of national educational seminars, I got to chat with people from other parts of the country and learned about fun sight-seeing places and local customs and flavors. I have logged hours and hours of conversations with strangers, and it has been fascinating.
I have learned that people have a basic need to talk and to have someone listen to them. Not just to listen, but to be heard.
I also learned (especially in business school) that our ears are our greatest asset. I have honed my skills on how to engage someone, listen and respond, and to ask questions to draw them out. I have empathy to feel their emotion and see where they are going with the conversation. I’ve done this in tattoo studios, at concerts, with strangers at mixers, artists, standing in line at the market, city officials, and with people in occupations about which I knew nothing. Away from the job or an agenda, when people relax and let down their guard, I have had wonderful conversations about: children, life, death, travel, fitness, movies, mothers-in-law, ambition, the universe and politics on all sides. I can definitely talk with someone about music for days.
There is one conversation, in particular, that I had years ago that still stands out to me. I was in the business district of Minneapolis and was on a lunch break from a seminar. It was October, and it was probably the last week of picture-perfect weather. Sitting outdoors seemed like a good plan for private time.
So, I sat on the end of a bench to eat my sandwich in peace and soak in the local hustle and bustle. I was one bite in as an older man sat at the other end of the bench. He looked like Edward Everett Horton, but not as well-groomed and not nearly as much a dandy. He had a bit of that thousand-yard stare to him.
Even though I wanted to be alone, I was friendly enough and said, “Hi, how are you?” I thought he may just nod his head and keep to himself, but he gave me a response that I will always remember.
“Average.”
And I thought that was the end of the conversation.
“I’ve always been average. Never quite first with the ladies but not quite last. Never made the top three ‘most popular boys in class’ on the surveys going from desk to desk. Don’t get me wrong— I’ve had my share of sweethearts, but never the girls I had big crushes on. Wasn’t rugged or handsome or athletic enough. I still went to all the dances with a date, though.
“I sat third chair in band. I played my horn well enough, but I didn’t have talent like other kids. Maybe I didn’t work as hard. I showed up and played my part in class and the concerts. That’s it.
“My grades were fine, but never won a medal. There was a period when I tried to claw my way to the top of the popularity chart but embarrassed myself more than anything. Tried to get more attention. I acted out, goofed around, showed off, played the fool. I always just remained that nice guy. I think I walked home a lot, red-faced about myself, but came back the next day and did it again.
“I ambled around and had a series of desk jobs. Middle management at best. Punched the clock and filled out timesheets. Couldn’t afford better dress shirts, but I kept them clean and ironed. Always needed better socks.
“I’m the type that sometimes feels alone in a crowd but am always social at the parties. Never took the girls home. I don’t mind going to the movies alone at all. I still have some friends. A good handful or so, but I don’t necessarily get invited to dinners that often.
If I was a race horse, I’d finish fifth of eight.”
I sat in silence for a minute or two just staring at him and waiting for a follow-up comment or question. He just stared off again.
Fifth of eight? I thought that was an incredible way to describe himself or his life. I really didn’t know what to say to the guy after that, but I was certainly intrigued by the soliloquy. All it took was for me to ask one small question, and this stranger opened the floodgates and let it all out. It was obvious that he could use someone to lend an ear, and I happened to be in the right place at the right time.
Eventually, he got up and walked off without saying another word, and I went back into the meeting space to start the seminar.
There have been many characters that have come and gone in my life since then with plenty of deep or humorous conversation, and I have been inspired by more than a few. But I’ve spent the last 20 years since thinking back to that particular guy on the bench and hoping that I’m running a pretty good daily race.
Maybe when everything is all said and done I will finish at least fourth of eight.
