![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Today the office manager shared a Christmas letter from one of our field guys. He's been in and out of prison, mixed up with drugs and "bad womens" (his phrase), but he's a sweet guy, really -- more a product of his environment than a thug -- and he seems to think of the office manager as his own personal good fairy. He calls her for advice, which he then makes every attempt to listen to, and if he doesn't follow it, he's abjectly sorry for it and says so, and she in turn takes him seriously, lectures him and nags at him and helps him with an almost grandmotherly affection.
I don't feel that it's my place to tell you what was in his letter to her, which was funny in places and sad in others, and strikingly honest (and which put more of his personality on display than half the blogs I've read, including my own). And anyway, the contents of his letter, those are sort of beside the point, which is that listening to L. read, I was struck by a rush of empathy. I wouldn't have thought before today that he and I would have much in common, from background to experience (except for the prison time, of course!) to prospects for the future. But we do. He is grateful, in so many words, for all the help and advice -- but I could tell that he's also grateful for the chance to talk to someone knowing that the person he's talking to is listening, really listening.
I wonder if it's the first time for him? Because I know how that feels, that first dazzling realization that someone's really focused on you, not waiting for the next opening, not waiting to get rid of you, not wanting something from you. It's enough to keep you talking. It's enough to sustain you. It's enough to connect you to a life you'd suspected might be kind of ignoring you and that you'd almost given up approaching. To someone who longs to be heard, that connection is about the most important thing there is.
I hope M. finds more and more of those people over the years, as I have, as I hope you have. Without them, life's just going through the motions.
I don't feel that it's my place to tell you what was in his letter to her, which was funny in places and sad in others, and strikingly honest (and which put more of his personality on display than half the blogs I've read, including my own). And anyway, the contents of his letter, those are sort of beside the point, which is that listening to L. read, I was struck by a rush of empathy. I wouldn't have thought before today that he and I would have much in common, from background to experience (except for the prison time, of course!) to prospects for the future. But we do. He is grateful, in so many words, for all the help and advice -- but I could tell that he's also grateful for the chance to talk to someone knowing that the person he's talking to is listening, really listening.
I wonder if it's the first time for him? Because I know how that feels, that first dazzling realization that someone's really focused on you, not waiting for the next opening, not waiting to get rid of you, not wanting something from you. It's enough to keep you talking. It's enough to sustain you. It's enough to connect you to a life you'd suspected might be kind of ignoring you and that you'd almost given up approaching. To someone who longs to be heard, that connection is about the most important thing there is.
I hope M. finds more and more of those people over the years, as I have, as I hope you have. Without them, life's just going through the motions.
