Sometimes you can spot the invisible, like this misty fog from a recent walk along the Brandywine river.
© Kathy J. Sotak

This past week I listened to an interview with author, speaker and evolved thinker Charles Eisenstein. The interviewer asked, “Who are three of your top influencers or mentors in life?”

Mr. Eisenstein abruptly replied, somewhat annoyed, “Don’t ask me to name my top three teachers. My most important teachers have been people who are utterly unknown. They teach me through love. They are the invisible people. The humble people. To tell you that, I would need to tell you their stories.”

A mic-drop moment, really. His point is well taken; a firm reminder that there are enlightened masters walking around this planet in our very own neighborhoods. They don’t call themselves that, though. We probably pass them on the sidewalks. They may be pushing a broom at our kids’ school. Perhaps they are your retired neighbor who loves to garden. I bet there is a shape coming to mind for you, because upon meeting them, there’s just something about them. Something sticks with you, and you aren’t even sure why.

I don’t remember his name. All I know, is that every day I worked in this corporate headquarters building, I loved taking the elevator down to the basement convenience store for an afternoon coffee. We all did. It was a no-frills convenience store; twenty years ago, corporations didn’t invest in high-end coffee bars within their walls. This store simply had a small aisle for chips, candy bars, aspirin and deodorant. They had two refrigerated beverage cases, with only soda, water and iced tea – none of the frilly drinks we have today. That was it.

Then one day, they got an espresso machine that sat on the back counter. Traffic suddenly tripled downstairs to the basement convenience store. All of us click-clacked down in our pointy high heels and stiff business suits, eager to stand in line.

But why did we wait so very patiently in the long lines that formed every afternoon? Was it the coffee, or something else?

We waited because of something else. There was something about him. The convenience store clerk was strong with broad shoulders and stood around six foot six inches tall. He wore an unofficial uniform of a black short-sleeved tee, which matched his dark hair and dark rimmed glasses. Why was he so different? He hummed sweet melodies in the middle of the day for no apparent reason. He treated you like you were the most important person in the universe. Whether there was only one person in line or twenty, YOU were the only thing that mattered. He treated you as if it were a sacred exchange. Whether you were a janitor, a mid-level manager or executive, it didn’t matter to him.

First, before looking at what you carried to the counter or noticing how hurried you were, he made strong eye contact and asked, “And just how are you today, Miss?” The standard answer of “Good” would not work. He wanted to reach under the surface of “Good” to a more meaningful level.

After he was satisfied with the right level of dialogue, he made your coffee order in a careful ceremony like he would for Jesus or the President. Every movement mattered: grabbing the cup, filling with ice, preparing the espresso, receiving your money, giving you change, and serving you your drink.  It didn’t even matter if the CEO was standing behind you. In fact, one time, he was.

He was just a convenience store clerk. He was just an hourly worker. He was just ringing up your bag of chips. He was just handing you quarters.

I don’t think so. There was something about him. He taught me so much more.

He taught me that every moment matters. He taught me how to make holy every human interaction. He taught me how pouring ice into a cup can be an act of respect. And how his tiny acts are transferred to the recipient. He was transferring a tiny piece of respect, care and love to help get me through my day.

This was twenty-two years ago. He was an Invisible Teacher, disguised as a basement-level convenience store clerk in a boring corporate headquarters building.

Who is one of your Invisible Teachers, and what did they plant in your heart?