My Friday Night Lesson

It is a Friday evening in June. I was planning to connect with a forever friend, the kind of person I've known since we were both eleven. She has been going through some monumental transitions in life recently. In the last few weeks, she hasn't been feeling well and is doing her best to cope with her raw emotions. She had a low-key night. I completely understood and empathized with her.

The plan was to stop at Barnes & Noble and at a bite to eat nearby—simple and nothing crazy in-store.

I love perusing bookstores, grabbing a perfectly warmed soy hot chocolate with a dollop of whip cream, and Japanese cuisine. The simplest and smallest things in life can make me happy.

I parked the car and headed inside the bookstore, where I tried this novel concept and complimented three unique people at Barnes & Noble. In a busy world where many keep to themselves these days, I just wanted others to be seen and provided with recognition. Something that I know needs to happen more often than not.

I decided on a salad and soup for dinner and sat at the restaurant's small bar, a place I occasionally enjoy. I sat at the bar because I was anxious about sitting alone at a 2 top table. I quickly sat down at the sushi bar, acknowledged, and smiled at the person sitting a few seats away.

The server stopped by, took my drink order and ice water, returned to drop the full glass off, and asked me for my order: a tofu salad with ginger dressing and a small bowl of Miso soup.

While waiting for my food order, I pondered friendships, life's constant ups, downs, and everything while texting an old friend from high school. Part of me wanted to appear as though I was preoccupied, but I was more aware of my surroundings in reality.

My soup and salad were eventually dropped off by one of the restaurant servers along with a fork; chopsticks don't do the job for me. I have to share. This brief part of me gets anxious when sitting with someone else who uses chopsticks. I feel inferior when it happens; they can do something I haven't achieved yet.

While eating dinner with my fork and spoon in use, I noticed the server I had never stopped back to check how my meal was and if I needed anything. I had to accept those facts, even though I wanted to be acknowledged and seen, and I felt like those two details barely happened.

While the above occurred, two gentlemen sat down a seat away from me, one in his early fifties and the other in his 20s, from what I could tell.
I can't help but overhear pieces of their conversation. I hear the older man having a one-sided conversation with his friend, sharing the importance of a person's emotional and mental state. If his friend exudes happiness, he will feel it, be happy, and change his whole world.

I noticed how much the 20-something guy resisted the conversation. His entire demeanor changed immensely. Foot tapping on the ground often stared at his phone during the discussion, gave quick answers, and never looked up. I could feel how anxious he was, and I felt so much for him.

I wondered how many others noticed that state he appeared to be in. The restaurant was relatively quiet. I wondered if the staff saw, too, or if they were in their working worlds. I pondered what the relationship was between these two people. Father and son? Uncle and nephew? Life coach and client? I did not understand; I was a fly on the wall in this situation.

This story isn't about me entirely; this is about every person on this green earth, which encompasses much more.

I wanted to tell him everything would be okay and that it would eventually improve. I wanted to say to him, I see you; I hear you. But unfortunately, anxiety creates the need to be seen, heard, understood, and validated. We are all in this life thing together.

I sincerely regret not saying something or doing more. That may be why I am sharing this story.

I know this conversation all too well lately; I relate so much as I am working on myself. However, I didn't want to pry, so I didn't interrupt the conversation.
Anxiety and depression are real. Some people say the two don't exist because they haven't experienced either. Some may minimize it and pretend it's nothing. People want to be seen and heard and know everything will be okay.

I urge you to be present with yourself, your family, your friends, someone sitting a few seats away at dinner, the person sitting alone at lunch at school, the workplace, anywhere you're surrounded by people, or solely on your own. Then, find a way to help because you never know. You may change someone's day or even save a life.

So, where ever you are, the twenty-something boy with glasses, brown hair, and an anxious look, I see you; I hear you, and tomorrow will be a good day.