Check Your Story At The Door

I was sitting outside the car wash waiting for my Buick to emerge.  The guy next to me on the waiting bench reeked with sociability.  “How ya’ doing,” he quipped. 

“Okay, except our dog just died,” I said, since that day I was full of that sad reality.  It was more than I needed to say, since this was destined to be a one-time, fifteen minute relationship.  I said it in part to keep the encounter from total superficiality.

“Oh, I’ve been through that,” responded my new best friend.  And he didn’t stop with this bit of non-empathy.  For the next quarter hour, I listened to him about the demise of his two dogs, all the details, from top to bottom.  Then his van was announced “ready” and he walked away.  “See ya’,” he said.

I was the hurting party with fresh bereavement.  He was a veteran of long past losses.  I had cracked the door of lament open, but he walked in, paying no attention to my concerns.  I was the patient — instead I was being asked to become the doctor, to attend to his hurts.

It happens all the time.  “John” presents to “Bill” a challenge, but Bill responds by telling his story.  “Jane” brings up her fear, but “Betty” moves boldly onto the stage, relating her own burdens.  “Sally” phones “Carole” with news, but instead, Carole seizes the opportunity to tell her own news, with little attention to what Sally had really wanted to say.

Stories evoke stories.  But caring people diligently refrain from stealing another’s spotlight.  They resist mightily the strong temptation to discontinue tuning in to another’s story in order to tell their own. As powerful as your similar incident might be, if another person has handed you their joy or sorrow, stay with theirs.  Yours can wait.

In conclusion.  After “showing up”, or being there for a friend who wants to talk, or open a tender subject, give them the spotlight.  Use all your energy to pay attention to their joy or concern.  (Save your own story for another day.)