I met him in a lift, a middle-aged, fairly ordinary man with thinning hair.
Many, many years ago, when I was a shy teenager with an innocent mind and dreams that stretched towards all horizons, he was a youth group leader and trying to channel the exuberant energy of a large group of youngsters. I was one of the quiet ones in this group, the wide-eyed observer who blushed whenever someone spoke to me.
The youth leader wasn't really the central person of this group - he sort of faded by comparison to some of the older teenagers who enchanted everyone with their joy of life and inspiring energy. But when I geared up to go out in the big, wide world - scared to death - and applied to a school abroad, he was the one who helped me get going.
I have hardly given him a thought during the many years since then, busy exploring the wonders of the world. Until I came back to my home town and we happened to get into the same lift. Suddenly, I felt like that tongue-tied teenager again, not sure if he recognised me. But he smiled at me and asked me what I had been doing for the last ten years.
I have been lost so many times, and lonely. Never a very important or memorable person. But every now and then one of these people from my past show up and smile at me to prove that I am still anchored to the bedrock.
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