There must be something about me that makes others divulge their life stories. Why is it people feel the need to tell me the most random facts about themselves? Today I waited with my grandparents at the hospital for Grams' doctor appointment.
While there, I learned that a woman had been in a car accident where she was thrown 35 feet, landing on her head; was treated for back injury in Arizona (of all places!), but found out the surgeon had his license revoked and had caused her some damage; is currently being treated for a neck trauma of some sort and she doesn't really like her scar but what can she do?; they had her on pain meds, but she can't handle them and she doesn't like how loopy she gets when she takes them; has both a son and a daughter, but her daughter was murdered a number of years ago... a piece of the woman had died along with her and they have yet to catch her murderer; and she has come to realize that keeping faith in the Lord has left her better off than she had been before...
Now, I'm not saying I don't like hearing these stories. Actually, I love hearing them. Sometimes, when I'm driving down the road or in a really tall building I'll look out the window and see hundreds of people going about their business. Like little ants. It's amazing to think that each and every one of those people are sentient beings, who make their own choices, who have their own goals, their own problems... they could be suffering in any number of ways. I enjoy that perfectly random strangers are willing to confide in me. But why?
What is it about me that attracts these types of people. Sure I smile and make eye contact, but doesn't everyone? And I rarely find myself telling others (especially strangers) about myself. So why have I met hundreds of people who do just that? I don't know... but I like it.
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