Show the Fuck Up

I guess I needed sleep because goddamn… two nights in a row of catch-up level sleep.

I get a lot of revelations when I’m out at breakfast, and honestly, I think that’s why it’s easier for me to write on weekends. I start the day surrounded by observations of weird little human moments.

More often than not, I let an audible chuckle slip out. Because let’s face it: people are fucking weird. But they’re also predictable.

I watch people walk into a room now and I immediately start reading things:

• posture

• pace

• eye contact

• tension

• expression

• the way they interact with strangers

And somewhere in my brain, all of it cross-references against moments I’ve lived myself.

Or at least I think it does.

Last Sunday I was at Pantry Dos, one of my regular breakfast spots, when this guy walked through the door looking like death had dropped him off personally.

Messy hair. Pale skin. Clothes that looked either slept in or excavated from a floor pile after a long night of bad decisions. His eyes looked like two piss holes in a snowman’s face.

The man was catastrophically hung over.

He shuffled up to the counter where one of the waitresses was already standing there ready for him.

“How many?” she asked brightly.

“Pickup for Jim,” he muttered without even really looking at her.

And she still showed up for the interaction. Pleasant. Patient. Warm. Professional.

She carried the entire human exchange herself while this guy contributed absolutely fucking nothing. No eye contact. No energy. No acknowledgment. Just this dull, open-mouthed expectation that the world would continue feeding him despite his complete absence from the moment.

And honestly? It irritated the shit out of me.

Because this woman was trying. She brought warmth into the interaction. Enthusiasm. Humanity. She showed the fuck up.

And this guy just stood there spiritually unplugged while she carried the whole moment on her back.

There are a lot of people like that now.

Too many.

Too many people wandering through life with their mouths hanging open and their hands out, contributing nothing to the people around them. Nothing to the moment. Nothing to the atmosphere they occupy.

And look, I get it. Life is hard. People are tired. Some folks are depressed, grieving, burned out, overwhelmed, overworked, lonely, medicated, unmedicated, spiritually exhausted, or barely hanging on.

I understand all of that.

But if another human being has the grace to show up to an interaction with warmth and positive energy, then at least attempt to meet them halfway.

Bring something. Even if it’s small.

A smile. Eye contact. A thank you. A joke.

A little fucking humanity.

Because you are not the center of everyone else’s day. You are one passing moment in another person’s life. And you have no idea what kind of day they’re having either.

My goal in every interaction is simple: leave people feeling slightly better than they did before they encountered me.

Not because I’m some enlightened fucking guru. I do it because it helps me too. Positive energy compounds. When you push through your own bullshit and choose to show up anyway, something weird happens. The moment improves for both people.

You walk away lighter. Straighter. More alive.

Maybe even smiling.

Life throws all kinds of shit into our path. That part is unavoidable. The job is to navigate it without losing the wonder. Without folding in on yourself like a fucking infant every time life gets uncomfortable.

So yeah. Show the fuck up.