Cleaning the Gutters of Our Mind

The rain gutters of the buildings in my apartment complex are being cleaned this week. When I went out for my daily walk this afternoon I saw several workers walking along the roof edges of buildings, their hoses focused on the leaf-clogged gutters. After watching a few of them focused on their work, it occurred to me that I was bypassing an opportunity for walking my talk by initiating an interaction.

So as I was passing beneath the next building with a roof-walking cleaner I stopped, pulled my mask aside, and looked upward, catching the attention of an unmasked young man. He stopped hosing, and I smiled up at him and said, “Thanks for risking your life so we can have clean gutters.” He laughed and called back, “You get used to it,” adding, “Have a good day” and a wave as he returned to his hosing. “You, too,” I called back, returning his wave and smile and resuming my walk.

And here’s the thing. With this brief moment of contact, of acknowledging one another, of exchanging a smile and a bit of humor, two lives were brightened. The added spring in my step as I continued my walk was not my imagination. Nor was the mood shift. That young man’s smile was with me throughout the rest of my walk. It’s still with me now, as I write about it hours later.

What keeps me from passing on the brightness I receive—and trust I give—every time I choose to engage a stranger on the path of life, even for the briefest of moments? For me, it’s fear-based stories. Stories about being ignored or rejected if I reach out. Stories about needing to stay invisible to stay safe.

Story-clogged mind gutters. 

Maybe they need a good cleaning.