I’ve always believed in the transformative power of kindness, a theme I recently explored in an article for Grice Connect, a local news source I write for. Little did I know, this concept would soon resonate even more deeply after my own experiences during an unforgettable journey abroad.

My partner David, his family, and I embarked on a trip that originally centered around a martial arts seminar in Germany, an amazing opportunity that emerged from their dedicated training. Eager to make the most of our travels, we planned an extension to explore Paris for two days. However, what was meant to be a straightforward itinerary unfolded into a series of unexpected events, each extending our stay and teaching us invaluable lessons about human kindness.

Our adventure into the unknown began with a canceled flight back home due to nationwide airline strikes in Germany, affecting our layover and leaving us stranded in Paris. Then, in a twist that seemed to compound our travel woes, I lost my phone on the Paris metro, causing us to miss our rescheduled flight once again.

Despite the initial panic and frustration, these mishaps became blessings in disguise, revealing the unmatched kindness of Parisians — a strong contrast to the stereotype of rudeness or standoffishness sometimes associated with the city’s residents.

The kindness we encountered in Paris was overwhelming. From locals patiently helping us navigate language barriers to spontaneously drawing maps or offering unsolicited discounts, their warmth and eagerness to assist were heartwarming. Every person we met was incredibly kind, helpful, and warm, excited to share about their love for Paris.

Our interactions weren’t limited to simply seeking directions or tips; they extended into genuine, and sometimes lengthy, conversations on the metro or in cafe lines, where locals were just as curious about us as we were about their lives in the City of Light.

One memorable encounter was with a woman who recounted her travels to America, reflecting on the joys of exploring new places with her children and now grandchildren. Her stories highlighted how travel enriches our appreciation for home, echoing our feelings of discovery and connection.

“Traveling makes us appreciate our homes more,” she shared, her words resonating with our own journey. This spontaneous connection on the metro was a testament to the depth of interaction possible when we open ourselves to the stories of strangers.

Reuleaux Triangle

July 22, 2024

“Sharon may never forgive me.”

I was late coming home and even later getting to the restaurant. Sharon was waiting for me there. She was there until 10:30pm. Then, she departed for greener pastures. Perhaps for the night. Perhaps forever.

I could have calculated my odds of a second chance, but I politely declined the opportunity when I encountered Wendy.

Wendy was my waitress who was leaving her shift to sit at the bar. She nursed a glass of white wine and a constant look at me, wondering what my next move was.

I wondered what my next move was.

By 8am the next morning, with Wendy asleep on my arm, I need not wonder anymore.

Then the house phone rang. I forgot about its external speaker until it was too late.

“Hey, I wanted to come home this morning and talk. However, (apparently) someone has your attention for (apparently) the entire evening. I should have done as you (apparently) did. I had the offers. I still have a few of the phone numbers. Kick the bitch out of my bed or lose me forever.”

Sharon was to the point. As Wendy arose, her use of colorful metaphors weren't. They knew where they stood. I knew where I stood. By the scowl on Wendy’s face, but the trace of her hand across my leg, I had to rethink what I knew to be true.

He who hesitates is lost. I sat up and grabbed Wendy’s hand with mine, pulling her back into bed. With my other hand, I grabbed my phone to call Sharon.

My message was terse, but filled with (an ironic type of) hope.

“Get home now! You’re next.”

In geometry, circles are the most perfect shape, but triangles distribute forces better.

Finally, an application of high school geometry worth remembering.

No goodbye

no ending

just living

in between

No left

no right

we are

standing

still

freeze

like a breeze

No wind

no storm

ear-deafening

silent

When are you

breaking

the silence

and giving us

a voice

again?

To scream

to yell

the celebration

of our connection

But now

we’re disconnected

over and over

again

and again and again

When can we

loose

the cord

of disconnection

Just repairing it

strengthening it

surrounded

well-founded

rooted with love

The connection

we used to have

unbreakable

stable

are you able

to maintain

to sustain

this time

without

loosening ends

loosening threads?

I don’t think

you can

so I need to

live again

a fountain

of tears

and fears

it would be

an ending

a goodbye…

©® SunRise - 07/13/2024 All rights reserved

“It depends,” the teacher said using actions alone, no words were spoken.

You see, Jessie was learning to sign and her teacher was Deaf.

Her heart squeezed with a curious coupling of anxiety and relief. It certainly wasn’t the answer she expected.

Jessie hated depending on anyone and everything due to the guaranteed outcome of disappointment.

In that moment, however, she realized how dependent everything in life was on something else.

Even the sign “Depends”demonstrates how one finger depends on the other to keep it suspended.

The answer Jessie sought to gain greater knowledge truly depended upon nothing and everything.

Her quivering fingers extend themselves limply toward the gray pencil. Flashes of quaking memories flood her brain. She inhales and shuts her eyes. She can do this. The soul weighing down her stomach and pinning it to inaction cries out, "I do not want to. I do not care." She exhales slowly. She does care. She only needs to try. Her eyes open with aching resolve. One more inch… Her fingers feebly caress the gray pencil as the touch of the cold wood scathes her skin. "I hate you," her stomach mumbles. She takes another painful breath. Now to write…