The other evening I was
eating dinner at Whole Foods' outdoor café when a young woman turned around and
looked at me as though she knew me. After a moment, I remembered. "Oh,
you're the twins!"
About a year ago, she and her sister, both 25, were scrutinizing the produce, wondering not just about organic vs. conventional but also the nutrient value of different fruits and vegetables. I found their interest in health refreshing, and we engaged in a lively dialogue. They told me a bit about their colorful pasts and how they were committed to taking good care of their bodies now. I congratulated them, and we spoke of "bad habits". I said, "Well, no matter what recreational drugs you may have used, at least you're not addicted to nicotine!" There was an uncomfortable silence. Then one sister admitted, "Actually, we both smoke."
About a year ago, she and her sister, both 25, were scrutinizing the produce, wondering not just about organic vs. conventional but also the nutrient value of different fruits and vegetables. I found their interest in health refreshing, and we engaged in a lively dialogue. They told me a bit about their colorful pasts and how they were committed to taking good care of their bodies now. I congratulated them, and we spoke of "bad habits". I said, "Well, no matter what recreational drugs you may have used, at least you're not addicted to nicotine!" There was an uncomfortable silence. Then one sister admitted, "Actually, we both smoke."
Astonished, I said something
along the lines of, "Why are you bothering about organic foods if you
smoke?" Perhaps I was not quite so zealous, though knowing how I feel
about cigarettes (can't abide them from 50 yards) I probably was. Then our
encounter ended and I went back to my regularly scheduled life.
I was unlikely to have
thought about these girls again. Yet here they were, with Rowan (both names
have been changed) clearly itching to share.
"I stopped smoking two
months ago!" she crowed. She quit cold turkey, and said even though she
found herself craving a cigarette about a month in, she held to her resolve.
When I congratulated her, saying, "Your lungs thank you, your liver thanks
you, your whole being thanks you! And now you can taste food again!" she
agreed, "Yes, you said we had it backwards by focusing on organic food if
we were smoking."
"Did I say that? How
rude," I apologized. But Rowan held firm: "No, you were right."
Her sister Miranda still smokes, but I said with confidence, "She'll quit
when she's ready."
As her sister reappeared
from within the store, the pair got ready to leave, and Rowan's parting words
were," It's the best gift I could ever have given myself!" I felt she
was delighted to have the opportunity to share her win with me, to complete the
circuit and receive my acknowledgment, because I don't think there are a lot of
other older role models in their lives.
Honored, I reflected yet
again on what I've come to call "the people on the periphery": those
with whom we interact only briefly, perhaps once or twice in our lives and
never again, yet who leave a lasting impact. A man who overheard our entire
exchange said to me after the girls left, "You instigated that change for
her." From my perspective it had just been one of the thousands of casual
conversations I have with people over the course of a year. It's a great blessing to realize
what we may not realize: namely,
that every word matters, every action counts, even, especially, if we never see
or learn the outcome.
Here's another example: I've
had the same hair stylist for 17 years, though I only visit her seasonally and
each cut lasts less than half an hour. But we cover a lot of ground in that
time. Nora (real name) is also a hospice volunteer, and several years ago told
me about a wonderful book called Deathing,
which shows us another way to approach our final passage — including practices
you can use, even at distance, to assist a loved one in crossing the threshold.
I bought the book and absorbed its teachings. At the time, no one's death was
imminent, though I have a 100+-year-old friend and my mother had serious heart
disease.
When my Mom was close to the
end of her earth journey this past January, I used the Deathing techniques with
her. She was unconscious, but/and, hearing is the last sense to go, and
medicine has demonstrated that people can hear what is being said even in a
coma.
The next time I saw Nora she
was telling me about a recent death workshop she'd attended, and how she was
feeling she "didn't really know anything," compared with the other
participants. I exclaimed, "That's not true! If it hadn't been for you I
would never have known about Deathing or been able to use those tools with
my mother! You're a blessing in my life." She was grateful for the
mirroring.
Perhaps we have the most
profound effect on those we see just once in our lives. Perhaps one wise word
to a stranger changes the trajectory of their life. The periphery of the supermarket
is where the fruits and vegetables are located. Maybe living at the edge
(but not necessarily on it) is the healthiest place of all.