I’m no expert

After a screening, we always have the audience ask questions. Some of the questions are funny. I was once asked to turn around because a woman wanted to see my backside. I asked her what she would think if a guy asked a woman in my position to do the same. The audience giggled nervously. I, of course, acquiesced and did my best Project Runway pirouette to high pitched hoots and whistles. Another woman asked, “Since you lost so much weight, do you, like, have, like, folds of skin hanging from your stomach and, like, if you do, would you consider, like, having them surgically removed?” This was asked in front of 160 people. Maybe it’s just me, but I would not have the testicular fortitude to ask either of these questions to someone privately no less in front of a crowd. But, hey, that’s just me. Maybe I’m just prudish that way.

People also make poignant remarks and ask heartfelt questions. Last night, a lovely young woman about 20 years old approached me after most of the audience had left. She looked into my eyes and wept. I took her hand and she continued to silently weep. I embraced her and she said thank you. She never told me the meaning of her tears. Sometimes the pain is too big for words. Maybe the most important thing to do is to hold a safe space for someone to express their sadness. For a moment we took the same breaths and held each other in wordless compassion.

At another screening a young woman approached me and started crying. She said her father was Sicilian and died several months ago and that I reminded her of him. She said she missed his warmth and affection and would I hold her for a moment. I wept for her and for the father I wish I had.

I don’t know why or how the Universe saw fit to cross my path with these wonderful people. When these wounded children of God open their hearts I see how small I am and that love is everything. During these precious moments I forget myself and feel the magnificent reality that can only be experienced with an open heart.

My life can be characterized by a long trail of terrible decisions made at the worst possible time. I have no credentials other than a driver’s license and a BA in history. I haven’t accomplished any noteworthy worldly achievements, nor is there any property or assets; if that weren’t bad enough, I was an alcoholic and drug addict. Yet, I find myself in front of hundreds of people asking me questions about how to improve their lives. Sometimes people share deeply personal stories, not for an answer, they just want to be heard.

I’m worried about saying the right thing to a vulnerable person. People that love me tell me to just be myself and that I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Nevertheless, I often feel inadequate to the task, as if the Universe has me confused with someone else. But the Universe is never confused. I, on the other hand, am very familiar with confusion. I am grateful to be alive and to be able to be given such an extraordinary opportunity to connect with so many people. I hope I am worthy of this gift.