An Unsuspecting Handshake on The Coast Of Chile .

Hey, it’s Tyler Head

I hope you’ve had a good week.

May this week’s writing remind you to take a deep breath, and remind you to savor the journey, and pause long enough to connect with a fellow traveler.

Just a reminder: If this provokes a response in you — feel free to type it out and send it over, and I’ll read it. Or simply type it out and save it for later.

Sometimes it’s a simple handshake that does the trick.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

A few years back, I was having lunch by myself on the coast of Chile, and I met a fellow traveler. He was an old fella; he spoke really fast and, from the looks of it, had lived a lot of life.

I wonder where the fast-speaking old man is now?

A couple of years back, on a dreary and chilly day, I met a fellow traveler.

I was having lunch on the mezzanine of a local place across the road from the beach. The traveler, from the looks of it, had seen better days, and he made his way toward me. As he approached, he was speaking very fast, holding his hands out and what looked to me, asking for something.

In his eyes, there seemed to be a deep and real hunger.

So I reached into my back pocket to find what money I had. As I did, rich with a Chilean accent, he shook his head and stammered no, no, and moved his hand closer to me.

For some reason, I grabbed it to shake, and he smiled as if to say, yes, this is it. This is what I was after. And so there we were, on a roadway in front of a restaurant, in a dreary mist, hands clasped together like old friends.

How foolish of me to think that money is what this man is after.

He was a gentle and soft-spoken man. His eyes seemed to know much history through his living it. His face carved from years of life, which looked to be all too familiar with strife.

But at that moment, hands clasped, sharing our time, we were two distinctly different human beings. Connected.

I did not understand much of anything he said, and it’s likely that he struggled to understand me - or maybe he did and chose to listen because connection requires presence more than anything. Furthermore, my Spanish was rough and cluttered with a North American dialect. His spanish was rich with the local dialect, far from the Spanish of my textbooks and Chilean University.

He spoke the dialect of Spanish that I imagine he developed along his journey. The kind of language that, when listened to intently, tells stories by how he says what he says as much as the actual story.

One of the words spoken many times by my fellow traveler was “amigo”. He called me a friend. Before, money, food, or tangible items were exchanged. We had become friends through the simple meeting of our hands.

How foolish of me to think he wanted things.

I am not sure why he called me friend. Maybe it’s because I didn’t look the other way, nor did he. We stopped and embraced as human beings. We slowed down long enough to share a broken conversation. To connect.

I am thankful for meeting that man. Through our broken conversation and minutes of exchanging looks, I learned from him.

I was challenged in my thinking; my eyes opened to loving the human, not a type of human. Loving the human as they are, not as they should be.

You see, I think by us (the fellow traveler and I) meeting one another in that space, we were both reminded of the simple human need for connection.

No matter where we are on our journey - connection can be found in the simple presence of another.

For me, that day consisted of traveling alone in a foreign country while he was traveling alone in his native land. Yet, we both needed connection, and through a single brave act of reaching his hand out, it was found.

A handshake with a stranger. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Friends, may we be reminded that in the practice of being with and being be’d, sometimes all it takes is a single brave act.

Reach out your hand. I am willing to be someone you least suspect might reach back.

Talk again soon.

Thanks for being you!