Tuesday, March 03, 2009

I want this chair.

A strange thing happened at Z Gallerie. The store at this mall is closing and I want this chair:

But I can't buy it so I bought a jenga type game that stacks bones instead of rectangles with a skull on top. Cool.

Anyway, while I'm checking out I ask the cashier about the chair, delivery, et cetera - you know, living the fantasy of buying the chair. As she tells me the store is closing, I'm overcome with this wave of fear, frustration and pain. My arms flushed and I felt sick to my stomach. The closing date is less than 2 weeks away. I ask her, "Do you know what you are going to do?" And she says there's one thing. Then tells me some very personal information about why she needs medical coverage. No details about her condition, but that her medication is very expensive. Now I know where those feelings came from.

I want to tell her, I'm scared, too. There's no way I can buy that chair. This is a scary time right now for a lot of people.

Instead, I say, good luck! with enthusiasm and, I hope, some understanding and turn to walk away. But I get this other feeling. It's so warm and sweet and I surrender to it fully. I turned around, reached for her hand, looked into her eyes and said, I really feel that you are going to be okay. Better than you expect even.

In general, I'm not one to feel especially cheerful and currently I fight the same frustration, fear and anxiety I felt pouring from this woman. But I'm curious now how she will hold that experience. I like to believe that when I have these feelings that they are accurate. And I really felt that she would be okay and, quite possibly, better than she could imagine.

Then I walked away. And barely made it to the restroom. I hope I did take some of her pain from her. I really hope her load is a little lighter tonight. But even if it's nothing to her, I learned something about the depth of my own emotions and how unchecked they can affect others.

And you know, I still want this chair.

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