147: Every Person Has A Story to Tell if You Ask the Right Question

Everyone has a story, and I mean everyone.

“When the guy came to deliver our new washer and dryer, he kept looking at me like he wanted to say something, like he knew me. Instead of just letting it go, I asked him if he grew up here, or if he was from somewhere else. Most people around this town aren’t from here. He said he was from northern Virginia, so I asked where he went to school. That’s when his eyes lit up: ‘You were my teacher! I knew you looked familiar but I couldn’t place you!’ I couldn’t believe it, I was so happy as a flood of memories came back to me. He was such a sweet kid, of course I remembered him. I said: 'Yes! Ryan! Now I recognize you, you’re not the little boy I taught anymore. How is your sister?'”

"We had a wonderful conversation and caught up. He told me about his sister, I remembered she was having some reading problems because of an eye condition, and then he told me the story of how he ended up here.”

It was one of at least a dozen stories like it that my aunt, my father’s sister, told me when she visited. Each of her stories would start with something like “when we moved and needed to..., we met the nicest person!”

My uncle, who is far less exuberantly friendly, would shake his head, and with a small smile on his face he mumbled: “You always say that.”

Having my aunt around was a welcome reminder of my father. Until this visit, I never realized how similar they were, and now that my dad is gone, having her around gives me a sense of his presence and keeps his memory closer. It was an awesome visit, we took long hikes together, took time to explore this little town, and ate outside together, constantly sharing stories.

It wasn’t until after they left that I started to think about the way my aunt would tell a story of a contractor, delivery person, or someone else they met when they moved from Virginia to Arizona. My uncle was right, my aunt always had a story to share about the people she met, what they had in common, something interesting the person shared, the kindness they showed toward her and my uncle. Almost every story ended with “they were SO nice.”

It’s months later, and those stories are still with me. I realized that she almost always has these stories of people she meets when we have our marathon phone calls.

It’s not that she is a magnet for interesting, kind people, it’s because she is interested and kind that nearly everyone she meets demonstrates those qualities. People are interesting to her because she demonstrates curiosity and care when she asks questions. People are kind to her because of her kind, open nature. She expresses curiosity instead of judgment when someone does something she wouldn’t do, and when she tells these stories she tells them from a place of observation and thoughtfulness.

Our major kitchen remodel began a couple of months ago when I reached out to our local bank to ask about refinancing rates. I went straight to the broker who served us three years ago. I had done a little research to find out typical, current interest rates, but I didn’t bother applying through anyone else. We had a relationship. I knew I could trust her, that she would do her very best to get me the best rate, and that she would have everything in place for the closing, which means less stress for me and my husband. She has great stories to share about her son who is a musician, and the funny things that happened when she and her husband started a similar project.

The company I reached out to for the electrical work is owned by a couple I met while kayaking on the Missouri River. When I called, the woman I met was grateful that I remembered them, and though they’re swamped right now, like all the other good contractors around here, she said she would fit our project into the schedule.

The evening after I met the electrician they sent to do the work, I was telling my husband how kind he is, that he has a degree in something related to wildlife biology from the University of Montana, and that he spent the last many years living on an Indian reservation, where he went to become a certified electrician. I told my husband about his daughters and that he was thrilled to be invited to take a bagful of apples from our trees so he and his youngest could use their new dehydrator as an evening activity – quality time.

That evening as I spoke to my husband about the electrician and mentioned how kind and interesting he was, I saw the same small smile cross my husband’s face as I saw on my uncle’s face. He didn’t have to say anything. The smile said: “You always say that.”

You won’t be surprised to hear that I’ve had many stories since then about the people working with me on this huge project. I’m acting as general contractor, and all of the service providers have had to be patient with me as I figure things out.

From the woman at the city who is handling the permit ...