The Power of Vulnerability

The man stared, probably wondering why I sat RIGHT next to him when dozens of seats rested vacant around us.

“Hi,” he said, choosing direct contact as the anecdote for awkwardness.

“I’m Elisa.” I beamed, and he reluctantly shook my hand. 

Thin skin framed his blue eyes, and I knew something scary brought him to the hospital. 

I remembered a recent conversation then, when someone asked why I have exceptional occurrences with strangers. “It’s because I’m vulnerable, and I put myself out there,” I said. Honestly, I’d love to sit away from people because that’s comfortable. But sometimes people look lonely.

Step #1: Be brave. 

Now, for step #2: Be vulnerable.

“My husband went to get our car,” I blurted. “I have stage 4 cancer. It’s hard adjusting. I can’t walk as far as I used to.” 

He remained quiet, digesting the quick string of words. I probably sounded like a squirrel—an espresso-loving squirrel who had cancer.

After a while, he squinted toward the cloudy sky. “Yeah, I have a hard time walking too far too.”

“I don’t know your situation, but I found something that helps me.”

“Really?” he asked, more eager than I expected.

“The opposite of fear can be a lot of things, right? Peace, hope, knowledge… But what I’ve found takes the fear away the fastest for ME is trust. If I can somehow trust that there’s a plan, cancer loses its sting.”

“You must get so scared,” he said. “I just found out that I… I have a heart condition. And I’ve been embarrassed to be scared. Men aren’t supposed to be afraid.” He looked exhausted from carrying all that responsibility.

“But we all get scared. I just hope you’ll find what the opposite of fear is for you.” I paused. “For me, I just want to see my kids grow up. It’s peaceful realizing everything will be okay no matter what because G-d is looking out for everyone. Even me.”

A quiet understanding settled between us, and we didn’t say much more. Instead, we gazed at the luminous sky. Cirrus clouds spread to the edges of the mountaintops, framing the sun perfectly, and I thought how ironic it is that my love of the sunshine is still what doctors say will kill me. I’ll never fully understand melanoma.

(Picture taken earlier this year.)