Today I am Writing: On Voice

I was standing in the crowded line, waiting to order my decaf Americano. It was a Sunday afternoon that was beginning to feel like fall, with just enough sunshine to make it feel like a summery gift.

It had been a long week, and an early morning. I was lost in my own world, covered by my shades and overwhelmed by the press of the people. I was working very hard to ignore them, in fact, pretending I didn't notice that there was anyone standing near me.

But here's the thing about pretending: you always pretend in response to something.

Because there were, in fact, people standing next to me.

I knew it was a man who was taller than me, and a woman who was not. And I knew the man was holding a small child.

Other than that, I felt no need to know.

In my haze and fog, it took me a while to notice that the child was speaking, in high pitched little adorable clips. But as if leading me out of a tunnel, the voice began to draw me until I realized: Wait--I know that little voice.

I turned and sure enough: There was Solomon, my two-year-old piano lesson friend, standing with his mom and his dad, waiting to order a "samwit."

"He saw you in the parking lot," his mom said. And then we all delighted in the moment.

Later, I thought about the gift of a voice you recognize, when you are lost in a tunnel of your own making.

It's about belonging somewhere, to someone.

And it's about not hardening your heart, when you hear the voice you know, calling you back to the world.