One for All

There is a guy sleeping on our couch for the next couple of weeks. He's gone all day with his finance, so I rarely see him. I thought I'd just brush him off. And try to ignore the fact that he's stinking up our couch. (I hate when people don't use sheets.) 

But then I remembered the rule of one for all and all for one, and how it's supposed to be my motto. (I've even told some friends about it.) Well, a new angle popped into my head yesterday: 

I want see people as permanent friends, not as temporary acquaintances. It's easy to think, "Well, I'll just smile, and he'll be gone soon. No need to get to know him or actually care about him." I lie to myself and pretend that once he leaves my realm, he'll be completely gone, like the picture on an Etch-a-Sketch. But that's not true. He'll keep living, even after he's out of my sight.

I want to be able to treat people this way. I want to treat them as if I'll run into them again, maybe in two years, and I'll remember their names, or in the afterlife, when we're all kicking back in lay-z-boy clouds. 

And by everybody I mean Kenny, who's sleeping on my couch. And Jeff, my co-worker's brother who is in town and stopped by for lunch. I mean the kid sitting infront of us at the Jazz game, who seemed a little slow, but enjoyed the game more than anyone. I mean Brandy, who's so quiet you can be in her ward for almost two semesters before you notice she's there. 

I want to smile at these people, so that they're better and not worse the next time I see them.

I suddenly realize the hypocrisy in this entry. I'm sorry, Brandy. I don't mean this to be demeaning. It is a promise that I will do better.