I was in a sb today far from home and I asked an older gentleman for some directions.
He didn't hear me, didn't understand what I said, or something. When he realized I was talking to him, I tried again to explain what I wanted to know.
He never fully understood my question -- but eventually he understood the problem that had prompted my question.
Because he wanted to be helpful but didn't know how to answer my question, he offered to come out to my car and try to help me.
It was sweet in a very unhelpful way.
As I left, I waved to him, and he offered again to help me. I told him I would be ok. (And I was.)
As I walked out, the first thought that hit me was, "what a wonderfully sweet man."
And the second thought was, "he's probably a serial killer."
I immediately caught myself in that vortex of fear and cynicism and self doubt -- I felt physically buffeted as I faced those other emotions that made me smear someone (albeit only in my mind) who had been nothing but kind to me.
I tucked it away as I drove home ... and then I read this.
Andrea's post hit a nerve, so I decided to share this little tidbit on the blog.
Watch the video in Andrea's post, and HOLY COW, try to remember what it was like to be without the fear of what might happen. I wonder if it is possible to get there again.
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