The Epiphany Project: Part I

I spend each morning at The Village Buzz Café in Greenwood Lake, NY. It has become a second home for me, satisfying a retiree’s desire for good company and nutritious food. It’s a perfect way to begin my day. As I became a fixture, set up in the back corner, I began collecting friendships. Some were fleeting. They were folks on the way to work and could only pause long enough to affirm that we had both showed up another day. Then off they went clutching a bagel and coffee. These encounters over the years began to deepen as passing greetings evolved into fondness and even love. Our mutual histories unfolded in fits and starts arriving one unexpected day as a real sense of knowing each other. If one of us missed a morning, we heard about it the following day. Jamie, the owner, would jokingly mention that she thought about alerting the police when my seat remained unfilled. It gave us both a sense that something was off in the world if the usual suspects failed to appear in their places at expected times. This arrangement warmed the part of me that had been longing for community and connections that were natural and honest. A sense of place is vital for my spirit and, while my cottage perched on a mountain minutes away was my foundation, the Buzz was the portal to the village. Here it was that people from every walk of life wandered in, sighing over the aroma of bacon and fresh baked muffins. The whole business was fascinating to observe from my corner. It presented a sense of continuity and shape around my life. Names attached to faces and particles of personal history slipped out in bits and pieces. I began to hear about the children in the care of these new friends and a good amount about dogs and cats rescued by them. I admired them for their commitment to those unable to take care of themselves. These came also in the form of homeless adults who dropped by. The tiny bathroom at the café was, for some, the only warm spot to have a wash. This was never questioned or scorned upon. They were as much a part of the cafe’s life as I. Free food was often offered to those in need. Occasionally it was accepted, though I observed a sense of pride over-riding raw hunger at times. This was the real world, I thought. It’s where I belong. It was here that I came upon the idea for Conversations That Matter, a one-on-one coaching practice that was to occupy lots of my time and energy for years to come. The notion emerged from the acquaintances I made while enjoying my breakfast. I found myself paying close attention to the regular and irregular visitors. Something about their repeated appearances allowed me to see more deeply into their characters. I started practicing, what I later referred to as Compassionate Listening. I guess I had read the phrase somewhere and it seemed to me to be the perfect description of what was going on. Somehow, I was getting a more layered appreciation of several of the regulars. The outer performances became more transparent and, like a miner, I was able to get at some precious ore buried deep inside them. This seemed to occur without much ado. I recognized that paying attention was reaping benefits. It seems most of us are unused to being attended to. Experiencing eye contact and non-judgment caught us all by surprise and wells of information began to pour forth. Casual encounters morphed into expected appearances. We started to miss each other when the morning ritual was disrupted by absence.