A man is walking down the middle of a busy street, holding a bunch of coloured balloons in one hand and a worn, black overstuffed briefcase in the other. It is 9 am.
What is your story about him?
Is he going to surprise someone at work with a birthday bouquet?
Did he untie the balloons from someone’s front porch and thought nothing of it?
Is he on the way to visit a friend in the hospital?
And, hey? What’s in that overstuffed briefcase anyway?
Is he releasing the balloons at a favourite spot on the anniversary of his wife’s death?
Why is he walking in the middle of the street?
Is he an attention getter?
Is he off his meds?
Is he heading to an audition for a community play?
Is he a clown?
Is he just a nut?
Do you see how we make up our story to make sense of it all? How many times a day do we do this? Our own experiences, where we’ve been and where we are standing in this very moment dictate the story we make up.
I don’t know who this man is, I don’t know where he is heading, or whether he is smiling or has a tear in his eye.
We should all be a little more curious, and next time we see him, we should ask.