Whether we want to or not, we generally get an impression of somebody within a moment of seeing or meeting them. Some first impressions might be more riddled with harsh judgements than others, but to whatever degree, some sort of opinion is formed. This is one area of life where sometimes, I love being wrong.
On one of my many trips home from school while attending college, I was seated, on a quickly-filling airplane. It was Christmas time and everyone seemed to be in a big hurry to get where they were going. I had no one next to me, and was silently hoping it would stay that way. There was one of those airplane bottlenecks forming, a cramped line-up of people all trying to peer down the aisle to spot their seats. In this line, I spotted a guy that I prayed would not be sitting next to me. I was probably 19, traveling alone, and I wasn't big on talking to strangers. This particular stranger was probably late 20's, large, and covered in tattoos. Cov-ered. He had some facial hardware, longish scruffy hair, and apparently wherever he was from, they only sold clothing fashioned from denim and leather. And he looked, well, he didn't look happy to be there. And when he found his seat, next to a 5'1" college student just full of first impressions, neither did she.
I had a magazine that suddenly became much more fascinating as he climbed over me and plunked himself down in his seat (I normally would have gotten up to let him in, but there was no room to move by then). We sat, from Salt Lake to approaching Chicago, in complete silence. We had left Salt Lake a bit late, and had hit some weather along the way, and now it was snowing in Chicago. It became evident as we got close to beginning our descent that there was no way I was going to make my next flight. I took out the map of the airport as they announced all the gate numbers of connecting flights over the loudspeaker, and saw my gate, on the opposite end of the airport from where we'd be arriving. I had 2 rather heavy carry-ons, and knowing how crowded the airport would be, I must have started to look a bit concerned. I knew the flight to Buffalo I was trying to make was the last one of the night, and I would be stranded alone in Chicago.
Tattooed guy said "Are you going to make your flight?". I told him I didn't think so. He said "Me neither."
"Where's your gate?" he asked. Great, I thought, now I'm going to be stuck here with a stalker. I told him, and he showed me his gate on the airport map, almost as far from where we were landing as mine was, but in the exact opposite direction.
We didn't say another word. We landed, wrestled our way into the overhead compartments to retrieve our bags, and eventually exited the plane, tired and cranky. We got just inside the airport, and I heard tattooed guy behind me say "Here, give me your bags." and honestly I had a moment of panic. Until I turned and saw him smiling. He said simply, "If one of is is going to be stuck here overnight, I'd rather it was me than you. How fast can you run?"
And with that, he took my heavier bag along with his own, and we ran. We tore through the Chicago airport, and may well have taken some people out as we passed by. I'm sure I would have been laughing at many points along the way at how comical we must have looked, but I was carrying a very heavy backpack, wearing a winter coat and sprinting, totally out of breath. He was quite a bit taller than me, and pretty fast too, I was thanking my lucky stars for all my years of soccer by then.
We got to my gate, breathless, sweaty, and the two of us together must have been a sight. The lone flight attendant was picking up her coat to get on the plane, the waiting area completely empty. I must have managed to say something about getting on this flight, because she smiled, and checked my ticket. I made it. Barely. I think I must have thanked tattooed guy about 10 times in the meantime, as he stood there, waiting to make sure they let me on. We said good-bye as I walked toward the gangway and then I saw him pick his bags up and just saunter away, looking as tattooed and intimidating as the first moment I saw him, yet looking totally different to me. I have never forgotten him.
The other thing I've never forgotten is that people look how they look and act how they act because that's the story of how they got here, wherever 'here' is. Everyone has flaws. Everyone has beauty in them. Some of our life's lessons and challenges and triumphs show on the outside. Some bits of wonderful are hidden, but that never means they're not there. Don't be so quick to see the things about somebody that you don't like, that you'd never do, that you immediately shun, because if you had walked through each step of their life, exactly, who's to say that you would be doing anything differently or better than they are?
I've learned not to instantly believe my first impressions of people, and definitely not anybody else's take on anyone. That way, every person is kind of a gift that I can look at and piece together, and find all the best parts. I love finding a true friend where I first thought there was nothing in common. I love finding a guardian angel in a wrapper that would suggest something else entirely. I love finding a soft heart trying to find its way, out of a crass or obnoxious veneer. I love friends who though on paper it would appear we should argue and be enemies, are able to see all the good in me and I in them.
And I continue to love being wrong.
