Thoughts from a Bulgarian Lobby

I'm sitting in the lobby of a Bulgarian hotel, surrounded by diversity, dank post communist decoration, and the Cyrillic alphabet. I'm in an aging burgundy leather chair occupying a convenient spot in the middle of the lobby. Caddy corner from me sits an older Asian man with a wispy moustache. His thin glasses peer down to the screen of his gray Dell laptop on which he types away. Behind him sits a rotund woman who seems to be a local. Her fire truck red hair matches her lipstick as she glances at me with suspicion in her tired eyes. To my right is a couple from Germany. She's a native German and leans forward on her chair, deeply focused on the book she is reading. Her American husband sits close and stares at nothing in particular. To my left stand two female Bulgarian desk clerks. Both are rather attractive, one answers the phone, the other seems perplexed by whatever it is her computer is telling her.

Right now I'm paralyzed by the truth that each of these people have a story. Deep, intricate stories filled with love, grudges, victories, defeats, and who knows what else. Far too often I merely pass by others, entirely wrapped up in my own story, recently filled with transition and heartache. Sometimes my story is just too important to me...I guess we're all wired to be consumed with ourselves. Perhaps part of growing up is seeing your story fade and the stories of others grow. I do know that my story is still being written, just like the man in front of me, the lady behind him, the couple to my right, and the women to my left. The portion of my story that has been written isn't all that important really...how the rest will be written is. Maybe when my story engages the stories of other people, its place of importance will finally be found...as a distant third behind God and others.

For the moment though, I'll just soak in my eclectic surroundings and allow my story to be written more deeply.