Writer-At-Large: The Invisible Brandons Among Us

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Yesterday I went to a restaurant with a couple of my friends. For now, let’s call the place CF Pangs.

We were shown to a booth in the back, and I briefly excused myself to use the restroom. As I came back, I saw our waiter, Brandon, introducing himself to our table. As he saw me, he complimented me for wearing a “nice ensemble”. I chuckled to myself because if he was not in the capacity of my waiter tonight, he would have used some colorful language to say what he truly felt about the way I looked had we crossed paths in the parking lot.

As I sat down, I looked around at the decor on the walls and at the lights overhead. Their interior designer obviously knows that recessed lights create an unmistakable ambiance of intrigue and drama. Never mind that the beans appetizer you start with will be salty. But the server who brings you the food will make you question your sanity.

If she, a drop-dead gorgeous blonde woman, has brought it, the food must be incredibly good, right? I’m sure the company headquarters knows this, because when you try to reconcile the taste of the food with the person who brought it, your brain will fight your impulse to curse her.

Throughout those two hours, I saw Brandon many times as he would walk by, gliding through the narrow corridors between tables, tilting his tall body gracefully while holding trays like extensions of his own arms.

As we wrapped up, he came by with the check. I asked him when his break was and when he was going to eat. His tall strong stance instantly caved into a soft hunch as he bent down to say with a smile, “I’ll close and go. I’m here from open to close yesterday and today, from 2pm to 10pm. But, I’m going to go home and then relax.”

As he finished speaking, I beckoned him with my right arm offering a hug. He bent over at his waist, and we both said “awww..,” as we awkwardly embraced. As he straightened himself, he paused for a moment and said, “I’m going to go back with this energy you’ve given me,” before leaving our table.

As I sat back in my car, I thought about what I’ve made of my life, my freedom, and my own desire to have choices. It’s one thing to be here, surrounded by lights and chatter, without fully knowing who you are. But to choose what you want to be, and what to do with this one amazing life, is entirely within you.

Watching Brandon move through the restaurant, reminded me of a movie called Good Will Hunting that both my children love. They often speak about this favorite quote of theirs from an emotional scene between two friends played by Ben Affleck and Matt Damon.

Damon is a 20-something genius working as a janitor at MIT. He is incredible at math but is a victim of his own emotional and professional self-sabotage. Affleck is a construction worker but feels like Damon could do better by using his extraordinary gifts. In this scene, he speaks out of love and frustration.

“You’re sitting on a winning lottery ticket, and you’re too much of a p*ssy to cash it in. You don’t owe it to yourself, you owe it to me. In twenty years, if you’re still living here working construction, I’ll f*cking kill ya. Hanging around here is a f*cking waste of your time.”

And that there is the beauty of how people you know best see your brilliance long before you do. And for strangers, even if you don’t know their best work, the least we can do is to make them feel seen and heard so they can consider themselves as capable humans.

See, one of our shared aches as humans is the sheer anonymity of our existence. The CEO might find himself to be a nobody in his solitude, while a waiter can feel the same in a noisy restaurant. Even in his invisibility, Brandon was quietly holding space for my presence, and for my intimate experience with my food and friends.

This reminds me of people in marriages where love has ceased as emotional, physical, and psychological cups don’t get filled often. Even as their own needs go unnoticed, they keep marriages on life support breathing into it oxygen that they themselves don’t have enough of. If love was a performance sport, both the lonely spouse in a loveless marriage and the exhausted waiter in a crowded setting are competing for the Oscars in the beauty and heartbreak category.

I came home and couldn’t go back to bed without cleaning my kitchen countertop with my hands. As I cleaned, I thought of Brandon and how he was a human like me and not a hand that refilled my hot water, brought me extra napkins, or cleared out the empty plates on our table.

But, hey, here’s my ask. I want you to listen to those quiet crackles in the background, the ones of desire and longing to be the best you can be. The ones that feel forbidden, and the ones of love that don’t follow any norm. And you know what I think?

There’s incredible power in showing our vulnerabilities while holding up our dignity so the other person sees the common thread of self-doubts, fears, and the burden of feeling incredibly invisible in our huge sea of humanity.

It’s tough times for a lot of us out there who are love poor or money poor. For Brandon, I paid with my monies and words. For those of us suffering silently with love poverty, if they need some comfort words, let them have it. Love is something I can offer freely, even there, at that table, without ever realizing how much I had to begin with. Sometimes being seen by one person is enough to ignite a life.

With his words, Affleck was trying to show that staying small is a betrayal of his friend’s own potential. With your words, you might help someone stop playing small too.

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Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around. ~ Leo Buscaglia

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CF Pangs: Name of the restaurant changed on purpose.

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When Life Happens, You Write

When you’re a writer-at-large, you let life happen to you. That way, you let your eyes steal everything that you see, put a spin on it and spill onto paper / machine some “stream of consciousness” kinda cool stuff. And if I am a true writer-at-large, it’s only fair that I must observe, muse and write about it.

Questions, just ask!

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