I’m rather content with the routine of my life, the calendar I keep. The weekly schedule posted on our refrigerator, menus planned for each day of the week. With activities for me, each of our sons and my husband noted, I take comfort in having a weekly plan. Yet, sometimes things don’t go as planned.
A recent lunch date with a friend made it onto my calendar, but not hers. When I told the hostess at the restaurant that I was leaving since I’d been stood up, she turned her head to scan the lobby, seeking out a particular face. “You should have lunch with this other lady,” she said. “Her friend didn’t show up, either.” I was confused. Have lunch with a stranger? Me?
My Myers-Briggs shows me as a solid “I” for introvert, and I tend to stick with a small group of close friends. I often find small talk awkward, even unbearable. The idea of making conversation for an hour with someone I didn’t even know had no appeal.
The hostess was persistent. When she couldn’t find said stranger, she walked me to the door, opened it, and pointed outside to an older woman who was walking to her car. “It’s her birthday!” the hostess implored me. “Have lunch with her! I’ll pay for it!”
I hesitated. In addition to being introverted, I don’t do things on a lark. No matter who’s paying for it. This version of a lunch wasn’t on my calendar. “Go, go ask her!” the hostess prompted, as the woman neared her car. I took a deep breath and walked through the parking lot.
Peggy
The woman was wearing sensible shoes and using an aluminum cane to steady her steps. Wispy grey curls peeked out from under her pink wide-brimmed hat. She was reaching for her car keys when I spoke. “Excuse me,” I ventured. “My lunch partner didn’t show up, either. Do you want to have lunch?”
Why yes, yes she did. “I’m Peggy, and I’m 72 years old today.” After she introduced herself, I did the same.
“I’m Judy, and I’m 60.” Although it wasn’t my birthday, it was a milestone year for me. I’d recently retired and turning 60 gave me pause. Both my brothers died in their fifties; I was entering unchartered territory. I had big dreams of ensuring that my remaining years were meaningful, important; that I was living my best life.
As we were seated for lunch, Peggy got a call from her sister, her original lunch date. She reassured her, “I’m fine. I’m being taken care of. I’m having lunch with a nice young lady. Besides, there’s no room for you at our table.” So that was it. We were a pair. Despite concern about my conversational skills, I settled in as the nice young lady celebrating Peggy’s birthday with her.
Over the next 90 minutes, we talked about everything from breast cancer to pound cake recipes. Peggy had a longstanding career with the naval warfare centre, where she first served as a librarian (something I’d toyed with becoming); her niece worked in career services for a private university (which was one of my first jobs); she’d already adjusted to retired life (she had six years of experience).
As she talked, I pondered what I’d be like in 12 years. Would living my best life look like this? Without a career consuming my time and energy, my future was a blank slate. The calendar was empty. I found myself looking to Peggy as somewhat of a guide—how had she lived as a retiree and stayed engaged, mentally and socially?
We had a lot in common. We both chose this particular restaurant for practical purposes: It was equidistant for us and our lunch partners. We shared an intellectual curiosity; I thrive on reading non-fiction (I’ve joined book clubs to force myself to read for pleasure); Peggy takes part in a variety of lectures through the Lifelong Learning Institute at a local university.
When I asked about her family, Peggy replied, “I’ve never been married, had kids, a piercing, a tattoo or a pet.” She seemed happy; somewhat staid. While our conversation wasn’t awkward, neither of us was the babbling type. We were reserved, but kept up a good conversation.
Going to a concert
I saw a lot of myself in her.
Until she shared, “I’m going the Eagles concert next month. I’m so excited! I get special seating because of my handicap.” I was careful not to let it show (I hope), but all I could think was: What? A concert? YOU?
Because, frankly, I had pegged her as dowdy. Not raucous. Not one given to loud music and bright lights. There wasn’t much loud or bright about her.
I’d found comfort in that. We were similar, little old ladies making our way, living quiet but satisfying lives. Her concert-going was like learning my Grandma would be going to Bruce Springsteen on Broadway, maybe even trying to grab the microphone at some point. While I stayed home and watched Bridgerton on Netflix.
The complexity of the woman sitting across from me gave me pause. Peggy was a responsible, sensible woman who had made time and space in her life for fun. She told me she attended many live performances, theater and music, and was eager to see the Eagles because, “Who knows if they’ll tour again?”
Leaving my comfort zone
It made me wonder, what would it be like if I stopped talking myself out of things? If I didn’t automatically recite all the reasons not to have lunch with a stranger, or spend money on concerts? If I—god forbid—didn’t manage my calendar quite so tightly, and allowed space for fun and serendipity?
I continue to consider how doing things on a whim, or intentionally planning fun experiences, can bring unexpected surprises.
Maybe I would be living my best life.
As we wrapped up our lunch, Peggy insisted on leaving the tip, after the waiter insisted that our meal had indeed been covered by the hostess. We said our goodbyes and thanked each other, but knew there was no need to share contact information. From each other, we’d already got what we needed: Peggy, a birthday lunch; me, an expanded outlook and perspective.
I continue to consider how doing things on a whim, or intentionally planning fun experiences, can bring unexpected surprises. Where could I use some breaks in the routine of my life, do something out of the ordinary, even attend a live performance?
I was on a (scheduled) walk with a friend, who invited us to join her family that night in exploring an arts installation at a local performing arts venue. “What?” my hard-wired programming initially responded. “That seems so last minute, unplanned!”
I said yes. No concert that night at Wolf Trap, but a delightful walk through the grounds, enjoying an activity that wasn’t on the calendar.
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image 1 Sabine van Erp from Pixabay 2 image by mohamed Hassan from Pixabay 3 image by Pexels from Pixabay
