Matt W Cook

writer.former fundamentalist.christianly fellow

Tag: friendship

A Stranger is a Friend You Haven’t Met

     I’m so sad that our culture demonizes strangers. We don’t talk to people on the bus, except to apologize for accidentally touching someone (because that’s a real big no-no I guess). We constantly encourage our children to be suspicious of every stranger, drilling the fear of them into their minds. And we’d never, ever, walk up to someone we didn’t know and start up a conversation.

     Thank God not everyone is like that.

     Some of my favorite people are folks I met because we and they were confident and loving enough to walk over and say “Hey there, what’s your name?”

     I love the word namaste. Literally, it means ‘bowing to you.’ But I’ve heard it said that the deeper meaning of the greeting is ‘The divine in me salutes the divine in you.’

     Everyone is divine. Everyone has a hunk of God in them. A shining, delicious hunk of God. A life full of hopes and stories and power. And we let the vast majority of these walking gods go their way without so much as a nod. For shame!

     We met some strangers in the park the other day. Within half an hour of saying hello we got an invitation to dinner. I’d never seen them before in my life. But we didn’t care and they didn’t care. We didn’t leave their house until the sun had set. We saw the divine in each other, and there was an instant spark of love. It was like an echo from Eden. A glimmer of the life humans were meant to live. A life where we stopped being suspicious of each other and, instead, put our hands together, bowed with a smile, and said ”Namaste.”

Thoughts on the Guy Next to Me Who Looks Just Like Me

     To the guy sitting next to me on the bus with my face.
     Wow. Look at you. You look exactly like me. And not in that superficial way in which anyone with an unkempt beard and strange, long hair looks. Your face looks like mine. Your eyes look like mine. Dude, you look like me.
     Wow, we dress the same, too. Both of us wear rotting shoes and over-worn pants. I bet you own as few clothes as I do. And that’s a nice satchel you have. Did you get it at Goodwill like I got mine?
     And I can tell that you see it, too. You keep looking at me, pretending not to. And I keep looking at you, pretending not to. And I think we’re both clever enough to know what we’re doing.
     Alas, neither of us seem strong enough to walk up to the other and say, “Hey, nice beard,” or “Dude, nice satchel.” That’s all it would have taken, I bet. And then we’d start talking to each other. And it’d be cool. Because we look the same. And it’d also be cool because, well, what’s better than talking to strangers?
     But neither of us were brave enough. So we sat there. I played with Twitter on my phone. You listened to music, but only with one earbud, leaving room for me to start a conversation.
     What would it have been like if I had done it? If I had turned and said, “Hey there”?
     The worst-case would have been an annoyed look. But I don’t think you would have done that. You look friendly. And so do I, for that matter. Why didn’t we risk it?

Laborious Day

var addthis_pub=”4a0af351783743a8″; Have you ever thought about what it really means to believe in yourself? I’ve never been able to understand it. Is it acknowledging that you exist? Or, more likely, trusting yourself to be good and sufficient and all that jazz? I guess it must be that.

But what a suicidal thought! I tell you the truth, I don’t believe in myself. And I’m glad of that.

Some ridiculously good friends and I are trying to help each other out. And it’s working great. It’s working great because when they think what I do sucks, they tell me so. And since I don’t really believe in myself I actually listen to them. When I read a scathing review of something I wrote my first reaction is, honestly, happiness. Seriously. We’re working together to improve what skills we have. We’re not going to do that by stroking each others’ egos. We’re not going to do it by believing that whatever we do is good in the name of confidence. We’re going to do it through honest, merciless criticism (and the occasional encouraging observation).

The trouble with the application of the believe-in-yourself way of thinking is that if you believe in yourself too much or in the wrong way you will disbelieve anything that goes against you. Someone will say ‘such and such a sentence is awkward’ and you will reply ‘no, I have confidence that this sentence expresses myself perfectly and therefore I’ll never betray my faith in Self by changing it.’ And so you’ll live your life in full, unwavering belief in yourself, you’ll keep on producing whatever it is you produce, always producing it in the same way. You’ll be convinced of your own superiority, and you’ll be alone in that belief.

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