Same World

"Where can I register?"

I looked up from a table where I was sitting with some visiting alums at a shriveled old man who'd just walked through the doors of the Hopps Museum.

"Right here!" I said cheerfully, hopping up from the table and heading over to the computer so that I could add this gentleman's name to the list of attending alumni for Homecoming weekend and print off a name badge him.

"How are you doing today?" I asked.

He peered up at me with a scowl. "I came here yesterday to register and it wasn't open," he growled.

"Hm...when did you get here?" I asked, smiling at him in hopes of deterring his negativity.

"In the morning," he grumbled.

"Well, we didn't open for registration until noon, but I am happy to register you now!"

But this man wasn't having it. He had a lot on his mind, none of it happy, and he was ready to shed his disdain.

"I hated the banquet last night," he sneered.

The previous evening, we hosted our annual Alumni Banquet and, if I say so myself, we pulled it off flawlessly. Our chef made a beautiful dinner of southern fare, the decor was pristine, and the entertainment was delightful, featuring a 13 year old fiddler named Ridge.

"We had pasta for dinner. Pasta!" He exclaimed. "Pasta isn't southern."

"It was macaroni and cheese," I countered, cocking my head.

"Yeah," he said adamantly. "Pasta. Who ever heard of pasta in Texas."

I just nodded thoughtfully.

"I hated it," he continued. "I won't be back next year."

"I understand," I said as kindly as I could muster. "Sometimes you just gotta do whatcha gotta do."

He grumbled and complained until I handed him badges for him and his wife (poor thing), and then he slowly staggered out the door.

I ran into this poor, sad man several times throughout the weekend. And every time, he had some bitterness for me -- despite my futile attempts to shower him with cheerful smiles and happy eyes.

Sometimes I watched him from the side, wondering, What happened to you, little old man, that made you so miserable? So sad?

On Saturday we had a potluck in the gymnasium of the University for the alumni. The gym was packed with cheerful chatter, tables laden with meatballs, salad, and rolls, and chairs set out in a circular fashion. This potluck is organized like a well-oiled machine by Karen Putnam, one of the matriarchs of Keene. She has organized this event since time began, I am pretty sure. Anyway, once I went through the line, I headed over to sit by my adorable friends, Debbie and Carlos, whom I have known and loved since the early days of college. And sitting there beside them in her wheelchair was Elizabeth.

We went to school with Elizabeth as well...back in the day. Shortly after she graduated, this tall, blonde, gorgeous girl was out in the "field" as a social worker when one of her clients went on a shooting rampage and shot her in the back, leaving her a paraplegic. She lives in Burleson now -- a town about 15 minutes away -- and continues to practice social work while operating her nonprofit for crime victims.

Elizabeth chose the high road.

The other day I was whining about someone who was frustrating me. This girl? She is a sweetheart of a girl -- she really is...

She is also perfectionistic and sometimes that presents as twenty questions instead of one; as anxiety instead of confidence; as deer in the headlights when I need action.

And so I complained.

But yesterday I was scrolling through Instagram, or Facebook...or something of that nature when I came across a quote that said...

"Loving people live in a loving world; hostile people live in a hostile world. Same world."

Sometimes I am petty.

Sometimes I complain.

And sometimes I say -- I'm never going to that banquet again.

But here's the thing:

I can see strength and possibility and courage.

I can see shriveled and hopeless and worthless.

It's all up to me.

Same world.