Blonde Monde

He seemed like he’d been sitting at that corner with his empty paper plate for years – like a scene from a time-lapse camera,  he’d remain locked with the landscape while the world briskly passed him by.

Begrudgingly, I stepped from the early morning, overly heated city bus and out into the concrete jungle once again. Bundled and protected from the Canadian elements, I angled my body into the cold winter wind and began to walk the 5 blocks to work. As I approached the closest corner to my office, there was a man sitting on the ground. He wasn’t directly on the ground, but rather on the cement retaining wall running along the sidewalk. As I approached, I looked curiously at his long, stained, white beard and weathered skin and guessed him to be in his late 60’s.  He had the kind of look that could be intimidating to business folk and small children alike – the kind of look that, like the old man in Home Alone, didn’t welcome you in, but instead evoked feelings of uncertainty. “Good morning,” I said, as I walked past and stepped off the curb to cross. “Good morning!,” he replied, with a sparkle in his eye so honest and an enthusiasm so startlingly genuine that my heartbeat stammered and tripped over itself as I continued walking. “Interesting,” I thought, as I continued my journey to work, “Most don’t actually mean it when they say good morning, but when he said it, he truly meant it!”

I returned the following day, as I always do, and he was sitting there, as he always was. Not only did I say good morning to him, but this time I really meant it. I would great about making his gentle heart smile – as I observed the population passing him by, I thought might possibly be his only smile of the day.We continued this for weeks. Some mornings he wasn’t there, but 3-4 times per week, my new friend and I would enthusiastically greet each other and smile. That man changed my mornings with his warm smile and welcome sparkle. Some days the first words I would utter were those two small words to my new friend.

One day I stopped and bought a muffin for him; it was a Wednesday. I wanted to buy him an apple pie, but they weren’t available, so I settled on a cranberry muffin, paid, and left with my paper bag. Jovially, I continued down the street, turned the corner and saw that he wasn’t there. I slowed to a near crawl to see if he actually was there and I just couldn’t see him. I reached the end of the retaining wall and he was nowhere to be found. Dejected, I carried the muffin with me to work and set it on my desk. After an hour or so of wondering, I took it out of the bag and ate it, feeling as though I was stealing from my friend who needed it much more than I. He wasn’t there at lunch that day either, and he wasn’t there the next day, or the day after. My friend hasn’t been there since. I still look for him every morning when I turn the corner and, every morning, his absence is deafening.

To most people he was invisible – but to me, he was my morning smile, and I was his. I think invisibility is something a lot of bloggers fight with. Some people just want their blog to be known, but don’t know where to start, and some begin blogging because of invisibility in their personal lives. Please just always know that you are never invisible. Ever. People are always watching (not in a big brother conspiracy kind of way), and you are impacting people’s lives every day. I always wonder who I am impacting and how, but I am certain I will never be able to know all of that.

Through our interactions I realized it was the uncaring, rushing, too-busy-for-you business people who were letting the world pass them by, and not my gentle new friend quietly observing from the sidewalk.

Who has impacted your life? Is there someone who has impacted you and they have no idea?

- Blondie