I'm reminded lately that what we see, and what we think we know, about people can be vastly different from the truth.
About a week ago I was walking down the street in NYC on my way to work. Walking in front of me was a skinny couple, a boy and a girl. I judged that they were young, because though I only saw the back of them, they were wearing those trendy skinny jeans, wallets with long silver chains sticking out of their pockets, hooded sweatshirts, and silly canvas sneakers with neon laces.
The boy had his arm around the girls' shoulder, and she had her arm around his waist, and was leaning into his side as they walked. I walked behind them, admiring their moment of happiness and remembering what it feels like to walk arm in arm with the one you love on a sunny morning, in no hurry, thinking only about the touch of him at your side as you walk. I was having a bit of nostalgia for such moments, thinking both that it was so nice for them that they could be sharing such a moment, and also that it would be nice for me to remember to appreciate such moments when they come along in my own life.
Then, when we reached the intersection, the couple parted for a moment as they waited for the light to change in their favor. The girl pulled away and looked up at the boy, and she was crying. Hard. Her face was red and I could see the tears, and she just looked at him like she was in such emotional pain, and wanted him to make it stop. He hugged her tighter and they went on their way, and I went on mine.
I kept thinking about them long after they were out of sight. What was she crying about? Was she unhappy with her relationship with the boy, crying because they were fighting or breaking up? Had she just lost a job or a relative that was very important to her? Was he moving away? Was one of them diagnosed with a terminal illness? I was so moved by the look on her face that I almost asked her what was wrong. But of course I didn't--I spin around in circles in my little teacup, you in yours.
What really struck me as I continued my walk to work that morning was how something can look one way from the outside, but be so different for those who are in it. I thought they were a young tourist couple enjoying a day in the city and basking in young love, just by glimpsing them from the back. Then, the story looked entirely different from the front. And I'm sure the couples' tale is even more different in his head, or in hers, or to the people they are close with who share their joys and sorrows.
The lesson, for me, was that we can't assume we know something about someone just because we have a few details. Ultimately, we are all on the outside looking in at everyone else, and can only know what's inside ourselves.
Recent events in my own life have made this lesson even more true, or more important. No matter how long you know someone, you really don't know what's in their head, and shouldn't assume you do. Maybe if we all spent a little more time listening to others and a little less telling our own stories, we could at least make the glass that keeps us all boxed in to our own little windows of perception a bit less hazy.
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