For the Auld Yin and The Cockney
“What time you meeting him?”
“Eight”
“Right. So, you OK? Nervous?”
“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure if I ought…”
I interrupted. “No! Don’t second-guess yourself. Trust your instincts and just be yourself. Those are the very things that have brought you this far. To this moment. This place. Just relax. You’ll be absolutely fine”
“I just don’t want to let you down, though”
“Ha! Listen; there’s no chance whatsoever of that happening. We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if there were any doubt of that”
“Hmm, but you can’t know that”
I smiled. Widely. And then smiled again. Like the Auld Yin and The Cockney had once smiled at me. Like benevolent master craftsmen indulging the naïve apprentice.
“Oh, believe me; I know”
I even chuckled. Like the Auld Yin and The Cockney had once chuckled at me. Thinking of the journey. The one that lay ahead and the one that lay behind. His and mine. And the Auld Yin’s. And The Cockney’s.
What I didn’t tell him, though, was I did have concerns. Oh, not about him, never him. Even less about them, either. They were me, after all. And I was them. I knew how they’d react. I knew what they’d say. Think. Feel. The things they’d see in him, too. Things he didn’t even know about himself yet. But he’d learn. He’d see. Like we all learned. Like we all saw. When we learned how to look into those places inside ourselves we never even knew existed.
No, my concern was because this was different from normal. He was my friend and I couldn’t be there to hold his hand. Like a father watching his infant take the first regular step, all I could do was have faith. I smiled again, remembering the Auld Yin’s words. Faith indeed. Nothing but.
But he was fine. And he will be. More than he’s ever been before.
“LIKE”