34 litres later

I was walk­ing across the park­ing lot, its slush-covered sur­face mak­ing the cart bounce.

“I’ll grab that one before you put it back,” a man called out to me.

“Sorry,” I responded, “I’ve got one of the tokens.”

“No prob­lem,” he chuck­led, fol­low­ing me to the carts. I pushed it in, then clicked the holder out, the token falling to the ground in the process. “Is it a good cart?”

“Didn’t give me any trou­bles; I didn’t run into any­thing,” I laughed. He laughed out loud, and we said good­bye in the same tone of voice you speak in when you say good­bye to a life­long friend.

Three min­utes later, I had pulled in to fill up our car at Co-op.

“What do you need today?” the guy asked me.

“Fill reg­u­lar,” I responded, and he pro­ceeded to fill it up. He then made casual con­ver­sa­tion about the car, my iPod, and a few other items. By the time I drove away (how long does it take to pump 34 litres?) we, too, sounded like best friends.

Maybe you’ve had expe­ri­ences like this. Maybe you haven’t. Either way, it reminds me that we’re not iso­lated. We’re not lit­tle islands in a big ocean. We’re trav­el­ing down this jour­ney called life with many peo­ple near us. They may be head­ing in a dif­fer­ent direc­tion, but our roads can cross for a sec­ond. More than any­thing, I learned today how a sim­ple con­ver­sa­tion can bring a smile to my face, can make the day a lit­tle brighter.

Tak­ing Heart,

Paul Loewen