kindness continues

Walking into Tulie Bakery in Salt Lake City this past week, I didn’t expect to see him but had hoped I would. I heard his voice first, which is apt considering our masked relationship. The barista who had seen me on more bad days than good stood behind the counter laughing with another barista. I felt myself get shy thinking about how important his friendship was and tried to hide slightly, walking over to stare intensely at their cookies. As he passed me my drink, he said the same thing he often did, “Take a sip and let me know if it’s okay”.

I spent the worst of the pandemic (May 2020 – June 2021) in Salt Lake City. It was the one place I could drive in a day without staying the night, had lots of nature, and was close to some distant relatives who I’ve been told are nearly all doctors. It was an incredibly difficult, isolating, and expanding time. The way I’ve approached living in Seattle and traveling from it is a direct reflection of that time where I honed in on what it means to be alone and to be in community. My main social interaction, if I had one that day, was getting coffee at two different coffee shops where I often found myself at the mercy of a handful of strangers who witnessed me in worse states than most close friends. In five minute intervals, we bonded. Or at least I felt we did.

I went back to Tulie before I left Salt Lake City with my partner in tow. I wanted to show her and she wanted to see the places that were important to me while I lived there. We drove by my apartment, saw my favorite mountains, walked some of my favorite trails, and ate some of my favorite food (Red Iguana).

The same barista stood behind the counter when we walked in and I whispered to her, “that’s him” as if I were pointing out a celebrity. I weighed saying something to him. I feel and felt so indebted to his kindness and friendship. I couldn’t help it. As he handed me my coffee, I blurted out:

“I don’t know if you remember me but I lived here during the pandemic and you were so, so kind every morning–you really helped me get through.”

Without hesitation and, as if I still saw him every day, he said “Of course I recognized you. I still have the card you gave me.”

I could have burst into tears right there but saved them for the privacy of the car. I left in a daze from Salt Lake City in 2021 but I do vaguely remember nervously handing him a card and trying to thank him then for his kindness before I got in my car and slowly drove away. The kindness continues for us both. It’s these moments and interactions that make all the missed or painful ones worth it. We’re all just people trying to make it through. We’re all walking each other home.

In my time in this bizarre city, I deepened my relationship with alone time, my desire to be in relationship with others, my need for nature, my ability to go slow, and my understanding that life is what we make it. It also almost broke me and forced me to slow down. I still feel the weight of my time here and I’m still trying to make sure it meant something.