I walk in order my vanilla latte and sit down in the most Melbourne of Warragul you can find; a little coffee shop, its like the metro of a small country town. The red leather couches and black chairs, the round tables and the funky counters. Modern art on the walls the sent off coffee wafting in the air, music in the background. To my right a couple, reading the paper and chatting. Another man to my right reading a magazine. In front of me a lady waiting patiently for her coffee to arrive and then when it does she receives it and walks out. People come and people go.
But as i sit here the most remarkable of them all is the man in front of me, dressed in brown from head to toe. Brown shoes, brown pants, white with brown shirt and brown leather jacket. Even long (for a guy) brown hair. He was someone you would expect to see from that 70's show. A hard red covered book laying in his lap, full of his creations with scarce blank pages left. Somehow we seem to connect. As our eyes meet we seem to have an understanding about each other. I think about next year how i will be able to sit and meet new people like this. Isn't it funny how we can meet a new person without even talking to them? Simply by just smiling, making a gesture or even simply by making eye contact. Somehow this man sitting in front of me inspires me. He probably will never know.
People's stories. All these people surrounding me they all have a story to tell. Yet sometimes we ourselves become a part of others stories, just by being there. You don't even have to know them. Just like someone who witnesses a crime, they were just there. But when your called in as a witness you become a part of that story. The man in front of me, he just became a part of my story. Maybe not for long, I may go home and go to work and never remember him again. Yet for now he is a part of my story and a part of the story i am telling now.
This guy sitting in front of me, he just left. Walked out side and left all his stuff. He has gone for a cigarette. A quick fix. Does this make me think of him any less? Should it?
As i watch him pen in hand i wonder what inspires him. I also have a pen i hand yet our art is different. My art right now is telling a story in my old bank book. The only thing i could find with blank pages. My story is being told through words, his story is being told by lines and shapes and colours. Yet both of us still have a story to tell at this very moment through our own desired art.
Isn't it funny how you can find the God in people. I don't know who this guy is or what kind of person he is, what is beliefs are. But still i can find things in him that represent God. Does he know what i believe? Would it matter? Would telling my story make a difference? Would hearing his story make a difference to me? These questions will never be answered, like many other questions in our lives.
Be inspired to inspire. I do not know where i have heard these words before but i know that in life they surely ring true in each and every person. Each person has one story alone and each story is different and unique, ready waiting to be told. Will they ever get the chance to tell it? Will you listen to it?