Opening the boxes

Walking through a crowded room to return to the table of my friends I feel someone put their hand on my back.  Turning to see who it is, I see a face that is familiar to me, a name I can recall but a life that I do not know.  Knowing a face and a name is not knowing a person and the owner of this hand is a stranger to me. They say "Hello, how are you?" and smile.  Doubt about a stranger's intentions cause me to mutter a simple greeting that sounds insincere and filled with suspicions before I quickly turn away to walk faster towards my original destination.

I've thought of that moment of late.  I dig in deeper to understand why a light hello stirred up insecurities to make me wonder even why a stranger would offer up a moment of friendliness to a fellow stranger. I give thought to other times that I have let a moment of sociable interaction pass me by because of the internal conversation occurring that says "It's not genuine or  I have nothing to offer, move on."  I realize how self-important of myself to think that there are moments offered to me that I see only as a time for me to give and not as an opportunity to receive. Gifts have been placed before me and I only tore the corner of the wrapping.  Seeing a peek at the box I walked away thinking that is not of interest to me.

It reminds me of a Christmas.  My parents divorced when I was very young.  My paternal grandmother remained a paramount presence in my life despite the divorce.  My holidays always include time with my paternal family and while my mom and step-dad did not attend those gatherings they still had me deliver a present to my grandmother for Christmas from them.  My mom had a habit of wrapping gifts in random boxes.  For example, one year I opened a package to find a box for a case of Coca Cola.  You always had to open the box to find the present but the box was not a representative of the gift inside.  This one particular year my mom had wrapped my grandmother's gift in the box of a humidifier.  After gifts were opened, I didn't hear my grandma say anything about the blanket that my mom bought her.  I looked around to see it and couldn't find it.  I asked Grandma if she liked the gift my mom had given her and she made a strange face.  She made a cordial remark that didn't seem to fit with the gift.  Looking down at her feet I realized that the box was sitting there unopened.  I realized quickly that she had judged the gift by the box and thought that my mom had given her a humidifier.  After she opened the box and saw the blanket we had a good laugh about her sitting there trying to figure out why my parents felt that she needed a humidifier.

As strange as it may sound, I consider how often we may toss aside humidifier boxes that offer something much more fascinating inside.  Not being present in the moment or listening to that doubtful voice in the head feeds the a false sense of security. Avoiding the unknown allows us to be more comfortable tossing that box aside. I realize that not opening the moment is almost like turning away from a gift that the universe has suggested to us. Opening the box doesn't mean the gift is suited for us but in the end of our time if we leave the boxes unopened we don't know if they do fit and we risk leaving behind only a legacy of life not fully lived.