Everybody has a story to tell. The bus driver with the combover, the college freshman picking up a few hours working at RiteAid, the family matriarch playing spades with the girls every Thursday afternoon at 2. Just ask them and they’ll tell you where they are now and where they’ve been. If you get lucky, they might even tell you a long (how much time ya got?) winding, tale about the ones they’ve lost. We’ve all lost somebody but we don’t all get the luxurious opportunity to talk freely and at length about how that loss has affected our lives. Everybody’s busy. Most of us are distracted. We’ve all got our own stuff. It’s not that we don’t care about each other, it’s just that sometimes we’re so loaded down with our own trials that it’s difficult to “move the furniture around” in order to make room for someone else’s sofa. But every now and then, we do. We sit. We listen. We allow another person to tell us all about it. From top to bottom. We say: tell me about your Uncle Charles. Was he pot-bellied? Did he like to dance? How much did he love his wife? What kind of work did he do? What was his favorite thing to cook? What do you miss most about him? And we….listen. We lean forward, look the teller deep in the eyes. Nod. Give a hug and let them let go first. And if we get even more lucky, we feel the magic that seeps when deep listening has taken place. We feel good. We know we’ve engaged in high art, some high healing. There are no magic wands involved, it’s simply what happens when we lose ourselves in someone else, when we step behind the curtain and let someone else take the stage. Almost like being lost so the bus driver can feel found, can put his GPS away and not be afraid to get lost as he shares his story with you. Now get out there and listen Gorgeous. You’ll be glad you did.