A week or so ago, I dropped my son at the baseball field.
I parked the car, grabbed my chair, and headed to the bleachers.
On my way, there was a dad - Tom - setting up his own chair along the first base line.
I knew Tom - our sons had been on the same team a couple times but we weren't close.
He is a very talkative guy, very friendly. Always excitable.
But after a hectic morning, I was ready to sit in silence for a few minutes before the game started.
So as I saw him setting up, I knew he would want to engage and frankly, I dreaded it.
I walked by him, said "hey Tom", and tried to keep some momentum, hoping he would only reciprocate.
But Tom, who is always energetic, was extra today... to say the least.
We talked for what felt like an eternity (probably a minute and a half) but he would just not let go.
Nothing much to say just a crazy energy and nonstop banter - the weather, baseball, how great everything is and so on... Incredibly positive. Actually, annoyingly positive.
Eventually I was able to wrench myself free. I headed to the bleachers for my well deserved 30 minutes of mindlessly scrolling my phone.
We lost the game (bad) and I went about my day, distracted with consoling a 10 yr old.
I had forgotten all about that ballfield interaction until about a week later my wife got a call from Tom's wife.
We live nearby and she needed help getting her son to baseball, she explained. Tom - my ballfield conversationalist - had to leave for a while. His dad was dying and he needed to help his mom.
Of course my wife was happy to help a neighbor in need. She hung up the phone and made a note in her planner.
But then the phone rang again - Tom's wife was calling back.
"Hey I just wanted to tell you- that's not the full truth. yes, his dad is sick but I asked him to move out. He hasn't worked in two years and he is not in a good place and it's having a terrible impact on our family."
My wife dug in, ready to help even more.
Later that day, she told me about these conversations. I immediately thought back to that conversation with Tom at the ballfield.
I had been so anxious to get away, so focused on myself, I had completely missed someone desperately in need.
A dad dying, a career imploding, and family struggling - for a man, I cannot imagine a worse combination.
I have thought about that conversation and my self absorption everyday since.
You just never know what someone is going through.
It's of course impossible to know at the time, but you can be confident in this: everybody is going through something.
My favorite definition of humility is from C.S. Lewis: Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it is thinking of yourself less.
If you want a picture of what that might look like, read Theo of Golden. It is the story of a man who embodies that almost perfectly.
Tom is still "away" right now. We are doing every small thing we can to support his family, but I will always regret that ballfield conversation.