Unexpected lessons from my cable guy

It was one of those days where I had way more to do than time to do it. And my internet was out. The cable guy showed up early and I was happy to see him, though I knew from previous experience this likely wouldn’t be a quick process.

David had a twinkle in his eye and a familiar way about him. Though I hadn’t ever met him, you would never have known that from the way he interacted. He made casual banter while going about his work disconnecting cords and dismantling equipment, the way someone who could do it in his sleep would.

He mused philosophical, reflecting on what a waste of energy getting worked up in traffic is and letting something that bothers you fester and occupy the space of your day. Then he went on to demonstrate in his own unique way what coming back to seize the simplicity of the moment looks like as he continued to troubleshoot the equipment.

Though my cluttered mind reminded me of all the things I could (should?) be doing while he took care of the job he was there to do, something led me to mentally set it all aside and join him in his reverie.

David told me stories of conversations he’d had with other customers who had apparently done the same – people who were getting all spun up had found ways to release their angst and see things differently after simply engaging with him. He relayed stories of being in the service and having the same kind of interactions with his comrades and superiors.

And he shared a conversation he’d recently had with his daughter, who was frustrated about the unusual quantity of rain we’d been getting over the last several days.

He paused to show me a picture on his phone of what appeared to be a placid lake softly reflecting the moon and stars and colored lights that hovered around it the way an impressionist’s painting would portray. It was a comforting scene of peace and tranquility.

“My daughter loves this,” he said. And I loved it too.

When his daughter had finished lamenting the inconvenience of the rain, he reminded her of that picture – something he had sent her a day or two earlier. And he explained that it was a reservoir they both drove by all the time, a sight which was quite unremarkable when it was dry.

He pointed out that the picture she loved was full of the very rain that was bringing her down.

David’s face beamed as he put his phone back in his pocket and returned his attention to testing the new equipment he had just installed, his work in my space almost done.

Every once in a while, someone or something comes along to bring you back to a place of presence. It’s an experience that interrupts the automatic and unconscious patterns that keep us from seeing beyond the mundane, trap us in our heads, and have us running to do things we’ve completely disconnected from without even realizing it.

David did that for me on that day. And I often reflect on the experience as a reminder that the people we interact with, the things we do, the very routines we engage with every day have a level of depth and beauty that we all too easily miss. That is, unless we make the decision to open our eyes, our hearts, and our minds to see beyond appearances and be in the moment.

Thank you David Rogers, for reconnecting me with the power of presence and perspective – and changing the trajectory of a day that may have otherwise had me racing to the end in a haze that would keep me from remembering what I even did.

And also, thank you for fixing my internet.