Audio version can be found below.
How often can we say we truly feel seen? I am noticing that few people have the presence of awareness to truly see another person. I am making it a goal this year to capture and share small moments I have with people I know and those I encounter in my daily life.
Anyone who knows me well will tell you I have the gift of gab. I love people and I love listening to their stories. My curiosity and empathetic ear often encourage even a stranger I have just met to tell me so much about themselves.
Over a decade ago, I was assisting at a conference in downtown Montreal. Early in the morning, we realized we were missing some electronic equipment essential for the event. I was tasked with running to the local electronics store nearby. It was too early for the store to open, so I joined a line that had already formed. I’m not sure if there was a product launch that day, but I remember standing in a queue with quite a few others.
Nearby, a middle-aged man was sitting on the ground. He looked homeless, resting on an old coat with a hat placed in front of him for spare change. Beside him was a tattered cardboard sign with a single word: “Broken.”
This is Montreal, a city in the French-speaking province of Quebec, but downtown is where most tourists gather, so his sign was written in English. I approached him and gave him some change, asking in French if he knew what his sign said. He stood up, thanked me, and began telling me his story. It was a tale filled with hardships. I listened intently, and when he finished, I asked him again if he knew what his sign meant.
He responded with “cassé,” which in French means both “broken” and “broke.” He intended it to mean he was broke. I gently explained that in English, “broken” means something more—a state of being damaged, as if beyond repair.
He looked down, his eyes filled with emotion. I held my gaze on him and said, “I can see your story hasn’t been an easy one, but it’s not over. You’re not broken, just broke—for now.”
Just then, the line started moving, and my phone buzzed with calls from the facilitators wondering what was holding me up. I said goodbye and hurried into the store. When I emerged a short while later, I noticed he was speaking to someone else. I looked over to where his things were, his sign now had a dark smudge where the "n" used to be. I smiled and went on my way.
Audio Version: https://buymeacoffee.com/cpornaroq/i-see-broken-2952277
