Before I went to Haiti the first time, I alluded to advice given to me by my friend Sam (it had been passed down from his father). In a moment of nervousness, Sam told me, “follow the story.”
These three words have since become my life’s mission. When I’ve been in a bind or I’m straddling to choices, unsure which to make, I remind myself of Sam’s advice. I’ve always viewed Sam as a really wise, but remarkably humble person. Since I started the “love blog,” many days have come where I’ve considered writing about Sam, but I’ve shyed away because I fear my rendering of the story he’s written into my life won’t do him justice. Last night, though, Sam and I made dinner together and today, my fingers ache to write his story as perceived from my angle.
Sam and I are both teachers in the Rio Grande Valley. Last year, he lived with someone I dated so we innately spent a fair amount of time in each other’s presence. Sam’s demeanor is extremely easygoing and his witty, but calm personality, is effortless to be around. When we first met, I remember feeling comfortable while conversing with him, but knowing he was a Yale graduate, I intentionally avoided prolonged periods of exchanging words solely because I was insecure in my ability to keep up. Sometime immediately before our first year of teaching commenced, I met Sam’s girlfriend, Emma. Emma is impossible not to adore and we immediately became close friends. Per my friendship with Emma, Sam and I became closer too.
I’ve seen Sam, in a social setting, two fistfuls of times, but each time we’ve shared updates on our classrooms or detailed adventurous travels that we’ve taken or jointly wished Emma was closer, I’ve left feeling inspired. I no longer fear conversing with him, but rather crave it because I know that inevitably our conversations will lead me to think something new or ask a question that will beckon new investigation.
Last night, while we were making tofu stir fried in almond butter sauce, we talked of topics that I haven’t breached with people I see every day. For hours, as our hands onioned and peppered with the sauce’s ingredients, we talked. Even when the night drew to an end and I slipped on my Minnetonka moccasins to go home, we were still talking. Sam is one of those special people. I’ve never met someone more genuinely interested in the lives of those around him, more willing to listen, more willing to peacefully challenge misspeaks, more willing to make bold choices without first experiencing a panic attack. I’m honored to have such a friend as Sam.
Sam has taught me that there is a story everywhere, in everyone, to investigate and that is loving.
No comments:
Post a Comment