⏳2, 30, and an 80-year-old man

Hi friends,

I was at a diner early last week. My wife sat across from me, and our daughter was in her high chair to my left. This is a new diner, not the one we usually go to. This one is glistening new due to recent renovations. It doesn’t feel cozy like the one down the block, but it’s modern and clean. It’s framed by booth seating and a few tables in the middle. We sit towards the back by the window booth. No one else is here except an old man who greets us with a smile and waves to our daughter, who in turn covers her face and resists to smile.

It was too early for anyone else to be there. We had decided to go out for breakfast before I catch my flight for a work conference. The whole time we were there, I was thinking about the presentation I was going to give the next day. I was nervous. This was the first time I’d be standing before educators from all over the country to talk about how important it is for schools to connect with immigrant families.

“Baba,” my daughter calls me. “Juice?” She asks, taking a sip from the plastic cup the waitress put in front of her.

“Habibi, that’s water.”

She laughs as if I said a joke and spills water all over the table. The old man sitting near the door turns and smiles at me. He nods. I nod back. He reminds me of Patrick Stewart.

I don’t talk while eating.

“Good is better here,” my wife says.

I agreed.

The old man says bye to the waitress, who says bye back and calls him by his name. He’s a regular.

Two officers come in wearing full gear like they’re going to a war zone and sit behind us. A middle-aged man comes in next and sits by himself. Two other guys come in after, wearing construction vests. Then the old man returns, a cane in one hand and a white paper bag in the other. He’s walking towards us with a big smile on his face.

“Here,” he puts the white gift bag on the table, “this is for her. She made my day with her smile this morning.”

My daughter takes out a purple elephant from inside the bag and hugs it like it’s her long-lost friend. I thank the old man, and he walks away, taking one small step at a time, his body shaking with the effort he’s putting in.

My daughter is 2 years old. I’m 30. The old man must have been 80.

On my flight, I kept thinking about him. One day I will be his age, if I don’t die of illness or an accident. I wonder if at his age I would be proud of the person I am today? Will I find worrying about a presentation in front of people I’ve never met, and likely will never meet again mean anything to me?

What would your 80-year-old self be proud of? What will he or she advise you to stop or start? What will make them smile?

💎 New from me
I posted a new YouTube video on the mistakes I made when I begain my writing journey

Enjoy!

🔖 Quote to ponder

What you do on your bad days matters more than what you do on your good ones.
— Kevin Kelly

📸 Through My Lens