Lunchtime shoe shopping
With the Aussie.
She is shopping.
I am tagging along.
Suddenly, I realize that
A woman is addressing me.
"Excuse me?" I ask.
And then I see her dilemma;
A clothes hanger,
Complete with clothing attached,
Has lodged itself in the
Curls of her hair.
She can't extricate herself from it.
I untangle her.
She thanks me, and continues shopping.
There were at least
Ten other people milling about
That the woman could've asked for help from.
Why me?
99 times out of 100,
Why me?
I am that person:
The person people will stop and ask for directions;
The person little, old ladies gravitate to
To help them across the street
With bags and packages;
The person that hungry and homeless people
Are not afraid to approach for alms,
Or anything else, for that matter.
I call this syndrome
The Customer Service Face.
It's pretty severe.
I have tried masking my appearance
To minimize the syndrome's impact.
I wear hats, headphones, sunglasses.
I pull the hood from my sweatshirt
Deep over my face
So that it is cloaked in shadow.
I turn up the music on my iPhone so loud
That other people can hear it.
It's all to no avail.
I am always stopped, queried,
Sought, picked, tapped, singled out
In countless banal and sometimes extraordinary circumstances.
It's me too, of course.
There is something about me
That shouts safety, openness, welcome
To stranger, friend and foe alike.
Surely, this is dangerous.
Surely I must shut down,
Shut out, shut off
In order to successfully survive life intact.
I've had this conversation with myself
So many times.
This is far beyond
People-pleasing or being motivated by guilt.
It's innate, like breathing...
A generalized vibe I emit
That human souls receive,
Without either of us knowing what's happening.
Father,
I have exposed myself,
Trying to do the right things.
I have been betrayed
By stranger, friend and foe alike.
I feel far too vulnerable,
Far too open to survive.
And yet I know -
I acknowledge -
That this is a part of my nature,
And that I could sooner grow wings and fly to the moon
Than protect myself.
Abba,
Shield me
From the good or evil intentions of others
That ultimately hurt me.
Shield me
From my disappointments,
From my mislaid plans that backfire,
From the enemy who knows how
To lay me low in five seconds flat.
Shield me
From myself,
And the unspoken dangers
I am exposed to
Which I sometimes step into unwittingly,
And sometimes step into
With a premonition of trouble.
Almighty Lord of Hosts,
Be Thou my Fortress,
My Rock and My Redeemer,
My Protector,
Now and all the days of my life!...
With the Aussie.
She is shopping.
I am tagging along.
Suddenly, I realize that
A woman is addressing me.
"Excuse me?" I ask.
And then I see her dilemma;
A clothes hanger,
Complete with clothing attached,
Has lodged itself in the
Curls of her hair.
She can't extricate herself from it.
I untangle her.
She thanks me, and continues shopping.
There were at least
Ten other people milling about
That the woman could've asked for help from.
Why me?
99 times out of 100,
Why me?
I am that person:
The person people will stop and ask for directions;
The person little, old ladies gravitate to
To help them across the street
With bags and packages;
The person that hungry and homeless people
Are not afraid to approach for alms,
Or anything else, for that matter.
I call this syndrome
The Customer Service Face.
It's pretty severe.
I have tried masking my appearance
To minimize the syndrome's impact.
I wear hats, headphones, sunglasses.
I pull the hood from my sweatshirt
Deep over my face
So that it is cloaked in shadow.
I turn up the music on my iPhone so loud
That other people can hear it.
It's all to no avail.
I am always stopped, queried,
Sought, picked, tapped, singled out
In countless banal and sometimes extraordinary circumstances.
It's me too, of course.
There is something about me
That shouts safety, openness, welcome
To stranger, friend and foe alike.
Surely, this is dangerous.
Surely I must shut down,
Shut out, shut off
In order to successfully survive life intact.
I've had this conversation with myself
So many times.
This is far beyond
People-pleasing or being motivated by guilt.
It's innate, like breathing...
A generalized vibe I emit
That human souls receive,
Without either of us knowing what's happening.
Father,
I have exposed myself,
Trying to do the right things.
I have been betrayed
By stranger, friend and foe alike.
I feel far too vulnerable,
Far too open to survive.
And yet I know -
I acknowledge -
That this is a part of my nature,
And that I could sooner grow wings and fly to the moon
Than protect myself.
Abba,
Shield me
From the good or evil intentions of others
That ultimately hurt me.
Shield me
From my disappointments,
From my mislaid plans that backfire,
From the enemy who knows how
To lay me low in five seconds flat.
Shield me
From myself,
And the unspoken dangers
I am exposed to
Which I sometimes step into unwittingly,
And sometimes step into
With a premonition of trouble.
Almighty Lord of Hosts,
Be Thou my Fortress,
My Rock and My Redeemer,
My Protector,
Now and all the days of my life!...
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