The Midnight Shuttle ft. Gary

"Lauren, I love you because you can make me cry-laugh in three seconds, and because you care about other people." 

Tonight Lauren and I met Gary Johnson. Gary Johnson is someone you meet once in your life and never see again. You'll meet a lot of Garys. Your Gary may be a great storyteller or singer. Our Gary was a chef, a motorcyclist, and a painter. He could ride a unicycle. He sounded young and looked old, and he drove shuttle vans at midnight hours. 

Lauren started talking to him right away—she's good at that. She cares about other people. The hour-long trip felt like 10 minutes because of Gary. He has 30 years of art experience and he talked about his galleries and "six-figure work that I can do in two days." We didn't talk family, and I'm still not sure if he's married. He casually mentioned his unicycle and said he sometimes gets home at six in the morning from work. 

While my sister was looking through some copies of his artwork, Gary told her to pick one to keep. He also does calligraphy-style hand lettering, and he had pieces of penmanship on manila-colored cardstock. The Gettysburg Address. The Proclamation to the World. Something in Latin. He let me keep one too (Proclamation). 

Gary was genuine, and though he liked to talk about himself, he reminded me why we're all here. Everyone has something amazing inside of them—everyone has his or her own world. I learned more about Gary's world tonight, in a colorful shuttle van driving through twinkling freeways and college towns. 

As the plane left San Diego, I thought about my weekend home and how I get to go back in a few days. I thought about dancing at my cousin's wedding. I thought about my parents and grandparents. I thought about the life I have and the death that could happen any moment on the plane (I was also way scared and nostalgic during takeoff this time around for some reason). I would've been OK to go today. But that means I would have never met Gary.