Showing Up
I have a confession to make: I don't much like going anywhere.
I'm perfectly happy at home. I have books to read, projects to work on, ideas to chase, and enough unfinished business to last me another lifetime. Given the choice between getting dressed, climbing into the car, and heading out, or staying put, I'll usually stay put.
The funny thing is, once I get wherever I'm going, I almost always have a wonderful time. I enjoy the people, the conversations, the laughter, the unexpected encounters. I come home better for having gone, usually wondering why I dragged my feet in the first place.
You'd think that after sixty-one years I'd have figured this out.
Apparently not.
Tolkien understood. Through his wonderfully reluctant hobbits, he offered a gentle warning about stepping outside one's front door. Frodo recalls a favorite saying of Bilbo's: "It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door." Once you set foot on the road, Bilbo would add, there's no telling where it might carry you.
I've always loved that thought. Hobbits were creatures of comfort. They loved their homes, their gardens, their meals, and their routines, and they had little interest in adventure, at least until adventure came knocking.
I can relate. Though I suspect Tolkien had something more daring in mind than a trip to the grocery store.
Then again, he never visited my local Walmart.
A Little Adventure at Walmart
I should explain something: I don't like Walmart.
Too many people, too much merchandise I don't need, and too many folks parked in the middle of the aisle catching up with neighbors they probably saw that morning. I have nothing against the company. I just don't enjoy the experience.
My six-year-old granddaughter, Ellie, finds this curious.
When my wife, Betsy, and I visit her in Texas, I often serve as chauffeur for the family shopping trips. Somewhere along the way, I jokingly informed Ellie that I'm not allowed inside Walmart.
Naturally, she wanted to know why.
I explained that I didn't care for all the "stupid people" wandering around the store. She thought about this for a moment, then assured me that her Walmart wasn't like that.
Well, that was reassuring.
Some time later, Ellie called me on video chat to ask for help with a school fundraiser. The goal was $150 per student, she explained, and the money could come from several family members.
I happened to have a hundred-dollar bill in my wallet. I held it up to the camera and asked, "Would this work?"
Her eyes went wide. "YES!"
I fully intended to cover the whole $150, but I couldn't resist having a little fun.
"So," I asked, "what are you going to do for me?"
I watched her think it over. Then, with a mischievous giggle, she announced that she would get me a gift certificate.
"To Walmart!"
I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. Outsmarted by a six-year-old, and delighted about it.
It's a small thing, I suppose. Just a grandfather and his granddaughter sharing a joke. But it's one of those moments I wouldn't trade for anything.
And it started, in a way, because I was willing to tag along on shopping trips I'd rather have skipped.
There's something to be said for that.
The Comfort of Staying Home
We live in a remarkable time. Technology lets us do almost anything without leaving the house.
We can order groceries, have dinner delivered, shop for nearly anything imaginable, attend meetings, visit with friends, and explore the world through a screen. We can watch someone climb a mountain, wander a foreign city, build a beautiful garden, or cook a magnificent meal, all without putting on our shoes.
I think that's wonderful. I'm no opponent of technology. I use it constantly and marvel at what it lets us do.
But I've begun to wonder whether all that convenience has made it a little too easy to stay home.
There is always a reason not to go. I'm busy. I'm tired. It's too far. The weather isn't cooperating. I've got something else to do. Maybe next time.
Sometimes those are perfectly good reasons. But I've become rather accomplished at finding them even when they aren't.
The trouble is that staying home gets easier with practice. The more comfortable we grow in familiar surroundings, the less inclined we are to venture beyond them. And without our noticing, our world begins to shrink. Not because we've lost interest in life, but because we've found so many convenient ways to watch it without taking part.
Life is not a YouTube video.
We can watch someone else's adventure. We can laugh at their experiences, admire their accomplishments, maybe even learn something along the way.
But we weren't there.
We didn't feel the breeze, smell the flowers, taste the food, or share the laughter. We didn't meet the stranger who might have become a friend, or stumble into the conversation that might have changed how we think about something.
We watched. And watching, as pleasant as it can be, isn't quite the same as living.
The Uncertainty of the Road
Of course, there's a reason we cherish the comforts of home. Home is familiar. Predictable. Safe, or at least it feels that way.
Beyond the front door, things get less certain. We might run into someone we'd rather avoid, get stuck in an awkward conversation, or come home convinced the whole outing was a colossal waste of time.
It happens.
But something good might happen, too. We might make a new friend, learn something unexpected, or stumble onto an opportunity we never knew existed. We might simply share a laugh with someone whose name we'll never know.
And sometimes we might find ourselves exactly where someone else needed us to be.
That's the part I've been thinking about lately.
Showing up isn't always about what we gain. Sometimes it's about what our presence means to someone else: a visit, a conversation, a helping hand. Attending an event, celebrating someone's accomplishment, or standing quietly beside them through a hard time.
We may not be able to solve their problems. We may have no special wisdom to offer. We may not even know what to say.
But we're there. And sometimes that's enough.
A Little Something Called Service
I've come to believe that showing up is one of the simplest forms of service.
Not the grand kind that makes headlines or earns recognition. Just the ordinary, everyday willingness to give a little of ourselves to someone else: our time, our attention, our presence.
It doesn't take special qualifications, extraordinary resources, or even a particularly good reason. Sometimes it just takes the effort.
And effort matters. Showing up can be inconvenient, uncomfortable, occasionally even frightening. There may be a hundred things we'd rather be doing. But when we choose to be present for someone, we're acknowledging that their life matters beyond our own immediate interests.
There's responsibility in that, and selflessness.
Service does lose something when we do it mainly to be noticed. If we're after applause, recognition, or some return on the investment, we may have missed the point. The truest satisfaction often comes when nobody notices at all.
Here's something else I've learned along the way. When we step outside ourselves long enough to be present for someone else, we often receive more than we give. Not necessarily gratitude or favors returned, but perspective, friendship, laughter, and the quiet satisfaction of being part of another person's life.
Our own troubles don't magically disappear. The bills still come due, relationships still falter, cars still break down, and somebody is inevitably going to burn the toast.
But for a little while, we're reminded that our lives are part of something larger than ourselves. And that's a fine thing to be reminded of.
The World Beyond the Screen
There's another side to this that's been on my mind.
We live in a world that seems increasingly preoccupied with the future. We worry about the economy, politics, technology, the environment, and where society is headed. We can spend hours on podcasts, videos, and opinion pieces about everything that's wrong with the world and everything that might go wrong tomorrow.
There's certainly plenty to be concerned about.
But I wonder whether all that time spent contemplating an uncertain future causes us to overlook the present.
The world beyond our front doors hasn't stopped. People are working, building, planting gardens, raising families, falling in love, making mistakes, celebrating victories, and occasionally making complete fools of themselves. Life goes on, whatever the latest commentator has to say about it.
I've come to appreciate a simple truth: we cannot control the future by withdrawing from the present.
We may feel safer inside the familiar boundaries of home, surrounded by information and entertainment we can switch on and off at will. But the world doesn't become any less uncertain because we decline to take part in it.
And perhaps, by stepping out into that uncertainty now and then, we find we're better equipped to face it than we imagined. Not because every experience is pleasant or every encounter rewarding, but because taking part reminds us that we can adapt, contribute, and find joy in circumstances we never saw coming.
There's a difference between watching life unfold and taking part in it.
I'd like to do a little more of the latter.
A Mission of Sorts
Now, I have no intention of telling anyone else how to live. Goodness knows I'm still working out how to live my own life.
I enjoy solitude. I value the quiet hours when I can read, write, think, or simply sit and take in the world around me. I have no desire to give those up, and I don't believe there's anything wrong with them.
But I've begun to recognize something about myself. I've become awfully good at finding reasons not to go, despite overwhelming evidence that I almost always enjoy myself when I do.
And I wonder what I've missed. The conversations I never had. The people I never met. The friendships that never began. The chances to lend a hand that slipped by because I wasn't there.
Not every outing would have been memorable. Some probably would have been downright miserable. But I wasn't there to find out.
So I've given myself a little mission: I'm going to show up more often.
Not because I expect every trip beyond the front door to be an adventure. Not because I think I have something especially important to contribute. And certainly not because I expect anyone to notice.
Just because I want to take a fuller part in the life happening around me. To be there. To be present. To share a little of myself, and perhaps discover something unexpected in return.
Sometimes that will mean attending an event or visiting a friend. Sometimes it will mean keeping someone company who needs it. And sometimes it will mean nothing more remarkable than a trip to the grocery store.
I don't know what I'll find when I get there. But I won't find it sitting at home.
And who knows? Maybe Tolkien was right, and stepping out the door really is a dangerous business. I might meet someone interesting. I might discover something wonderful. I might even have a little adventure.
Or I might simply find myself laughing with a six-year-old who knows her grandfather a little too well.
Either way, I'm going to make more of an effort to show up.
Even at Walmart.
Although I suspect Ellie will want to supervise.
~ Eric
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