I hadn’t been to “the bins” in a few weeks, but I decided this morning it was time to make the trip. It is an event. A modern day treasure hunt if you think about it. It is where piles and piles of donated clothing and goods go to die. One last hoorah before they move on to a garbage pile. A landfill. Somewhere out of sight, out of mind. I love thrift shopping, but “the bins” is an experience. I’ve had to learn the rules here. I’ve essentially had to earn street cred. Ive been going here pretty consistently since mid-December, I remember I tried it out for the first time while I had a few hours waiting for my son while he practiced for his Christmas concert. I was so nervous. What if they look at me strangely? What if they judge me? That’s always my biggest thing. Probably because it’s something I’ve always faced. Judgement from those who were supposed to love me anyways.
When I got there the first time I realized there was nothing to fear. It was actually really fun, kind of addicting really. So I kept going back. I learned the lay of the land. I started going in the morning, when it opened on the weekend. I learned the rules, I started seeing the regulars. One day, a few weeks ago, I first met Jesse. It was 8 in the morning, he was wearing a hand-sewn patchworked jacket. His style was intimidating, his presence immediately calming. I was starting to sift through things and he said easily, “find anything good?” We started talking and talking. I mentioned my son, he mentioned his girlfriend. It wasn’t like that. I saw the kindness in his eyes. I appreciated the conversation. Oddly enough, it felt like this stranger saw me. When I got home that night, I thought of his kindness and it brought tears to my eyes. The genuine connection that two strangers made, the conversation with no alternate agenda. The kindness in his eyes. It was so comforting.
It had been a few weeks since I had seen Jesse, and the last time I went to “the bins” I found practically nothing. I needed a bit of a break from thrifting. I decided to go through some things in my house, sleep in on Sundays for a few weeks instead of going out. Then this past week I started to get the itch again. I started to look forward to going this weekend. So I planned to go, and lo and behold there was Jesse standing there in line as I walked up waiting to get in. It was as if I was walking up to greet an old friend. I even felt like I knew the other people standing there. The conversation flowed easily. It had been a few weeks since I had seen anyone else in person besides the gym, the grocery store visits (besides my son of course, well that and virtual meetings). It was great conversation, exactly what I didn’t know I needed. A couple hours in, Jesse looked at me and said, “You have kind energy.” “So do you.” I said. He doesn’t know how much I really mean that. He couldn’t possibly know how much it meant to me that we were even speaking in the first place. Really at this point, Jesse’s pretty much my only friend. It feels good to have one again.
He made sure to come over to me to say goodbye when he was leaving. I left soon after. I cried again on my way home, not out of sadness. But out of gratitude for his kindness. How rare it is to meet someone who doesn’t swallow up all the air in the room. Or who seems like they are in a rush to get on to the next thing, to move on from your presence. How rare it is to find someone who acknowledges everyone. Who sees you, really sees you, with no agenda. It’s so beautiful. It’s so rare. I can count on one hand the number of people who have made me feel like that.
It made me realize something. I know I lost basically all my former friends. My family. But the thing is, I don’t want people who treated me like they did. I want more Jesse’s. And I’d rather be alone than settle for anything less than that kind of loving energy.
The Girl Without A Face 