I must admit, there are many places I would rather be than at a Costco on a rainy Saturday. The parking lot was jammed full of cars and people pushing their carts stacked with their purchases. I was there because my Father was going to get his new hearing aids. He was a mix of anxious, excited and confused. The forty minute ride into the city from where I live was a repetition of the same comments and questions that were tiring but to which I answered over and over and over.
When we parked and went inside to the hearing aid center, my Father was a litany of complaints about how far away we parked, the walk and how crowded Costco was with shoppers. As someone with social anxiety, this did little to alleviate my own uneasiness with being in crowds.
After I checked him in, we were a few minutes early so I sat on one of the two chairs they have for folks waiting. My Father, however, paced back and forth. He kept asking the lady behind the counter how much longer it would be. He has never been a man who was at ease, with himself, with others, with the world. I was deeply relieved when they finally took him back to the small booth to give him his new hearing aids and to spend time adjusting the volume.
I knew it could take anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour, so I made sure that I brought my small journal, a pen, and a collection of poetry. It was a small, battered, well-read copy of American poets of the Twentieth Century. I bought this book back when I was working in a Walden Books and More as a college student. Over the years, I have carried it with me to many different places and, could now, include Costco on that growing list. Sometimes I just open it randomly and begin reading.
Sitting there on that uncomfortable chair, sometimes I read from the volume of poetry, sometimes I listen to the poetry of people speaking: different cadences, different tones, different languages, different emotions. Each voice a life - of words spoken and unspoken.
Some people were by themselves, some with a spouse or partner, some with their children.
When I open the collection of poetry, I begin to read some poems by William Carlos Williams. He was a doctor who wrote his poetry in-between seeing his patients. A man who lived his entire life in the city where he was born. Yet from this city in New Jersey, he saw poetry in its people, its trees, its landscape.
When I glance down at the poem on the page, the poet begins, “Rather notice…” Later he’ll say, “Rather observe…” Then, “Rather grasp…” until it changes to just, “Observe” and ends with, “But observe…” I heed the poet. More people should, I believe. I listen to these words reminding me to be present, to pay attention.
I see the custodian pushing his cart before stopping to sweep up some trash off the floor. No one else takes notice of him. They are too busy trying to find the items they are looking for. I notice him. I bet William Carlos Williams would have noticed him. He probably would have written a poem about him. Maybe I should. I try to imagine his life and I wonder what his inner life is like. What if he, himself, is a poet?
Part of me wants to ask, randomly, the people that I see, not why they are here or what they are buying, but questions like:
What brings you joy?
What breaks open your heart to wonder?
What is something you wish someone would say to you?
Watching each person pass, I wonder what stories, what loves they hide behind those beating, breathing chests. Then it dawns on me that amidst all this diversity of people and pallets of products there is the poetry of life. And it didn’t take a William Carlos Williams to see it. Just someone willing to look. Today that was me.
Custodians always get a lot of attention from Jonathan – he loves brooms and will say "Good job!" to anyone he sees sweeping.
Recently he and I went to a hockey game and I was shocked at how everyone just leaves behind their popcorn containers and pop cups under the seats. After the game we went to leave and the cleaning staff were getting set to start to clean up the mess. Jon rushed over to a guy with a broom, trying to "help." He was so enthusiastic. I doubt the guy got that much attention all season. 😊
I love this. I'm an observer of people too, and wonder what they're thinking, what is their story. Thanks for sharing this 💖