You are a-changing.

I was at work yesterday in the airport. I was on bar (which means making coffee) and it was pretty quiet. Nobody coming. Nobody going. No beans a-grinding.

Then this lady comes in. She's blond, pretty, almost model-type looks and she's upset. She's so choked up, she can barely speak. She's looking through her purse for her wallet so she can pay for her two shots of espresso and her hands are shaking. She finally locates it, pays the cashier and comes around to my side.

When I hand her the drink, all I want in the world is to hug her. I don't know if she'd return it. I don't know if she wants it or if she views embraces the same way I do, as infinitely awkward. I don't reach out, however, and not just because there's a counter between us. There's a barrier inside me too. It keeps me from reaching out and even when I wish to be held, it keeps me from asking.

If you'd walked up to me a year ago and started crying, I'd have been running away so fast, you'd have whiplash. Of courses, I wouldn't be RUNNING. I'm a woman of elegant departures. I find polite reasons to vanish, smooth excuses. Tears are a weakness. I don't like this view. I tell other people it isn't true. I lie to myself that it isn't what I believe, but my crying and others crying is weakness. Now weakness can be beautiful, unveiling a weakness can be an investing of trust. If my mother cried near me, I'd ache for her, but I'd also feel incredibly grateful that she trusted me enough to share that part of her with me. In me, however, tears always feel like letting something through a mask that shouldn't be let through.

If I'd been in this job last year and she'd walked up to me, I'd have said nothing. I'd have just done my job and gone on with life. If I was where I wanted to be in life, I'd have had the ability to go over and hug her or at least offer her that option. As it was, I compromised.

"Here's that double shot of espresso," I pass it to her. "And whatever is going on, I am so, so sorry."

I know this doesn't seem like much to other people, that it pretty was barely a blip on her radar right then, but to me, it was a soaring difference.

Nicole, you are a-changing.