How Are You?
Fine Isn't Necessarily the Answer.
Summertime in the neighborhood means many of us are outside walking about, which gives rise to the passing how are you and its conjoined twin, fine. If you pause long enough, or know the person at all, you might find out they are contemplating retirement, or the addition of a backyard deck. Basically, it’s easy, low stakes chit-chat, a brief exchange before moving on.
Yesterday morning on our daily walk, my friend and I ran into a neighbor. We have crossed paths and cheerfully bantered frequently over the years, so we greeted him in near unison. “Hi, Jim, how are you?”
Jim is a wry, sweet guy with soulful eyes, a cancer survivor who rescues retired racing greyhounds. “Fine, thanks,” he said, adding, “I admire your daily devotion to your morning walk.” We laughed and were moving past him when he said, “Did you know my daughter had a baby last month? A little girl.”
We congratulated him. What was her name? Had he seen her yet? He pointed to the San Diego T-shirt he was wearing. That’s where they live, he said, so no. “I’m not sure when I’ll get to. So, even though I know it’s a happy thing, it feels sad. I don’t mean to complain. But it’s strange, being so far away.” He paused, tried to brighten. “But my wife has a million pictures on her phone.”
It was a lot, and uncustomary . My friend said she could only imagine how hard it must be to not hold his granddaughter in his arms. I said I was sure he’d see her before too long. We offered congratulations again, as if that might lighten the mood. It don’t think it did, not really, and I find myself still thinking about Jim.
Summer is filled with chance superficial moments. Jim had taken one such moment and done the unexpected, maybe even unthinkable. He truthfully answered the question how are you?
There’s a social imperative to keep things perfunctory when it comes to casual, pro forma exchanges, but I’m thinking this past year and a half, filled with anxiety, loneliness, and existential musing, has altered us. Now, we may overshare with strangers. We may struggle to remember how to behave in social situations. In that how-are-you moment, though, I still expected a facile pleasantry, so when Jim’s response was so confiding, so raw, it hit me anew that we are now in a different place. Many of us, like Jim, seem to have forgotten how (or refuse to be) glib. It’s beautiful, actually.
A daily walk in the neighborhood, greeting a neighbor, was a familiar morning, unfolding in a familiar way. But Jim refused the familiar for the genuine, the deeper, and in the passing moment, I sensed a brave new world.