A friend asked if I was a cup-half-full or a cup-half-empty guy. I quickly answered that my cup was neither because it was always gushing over its brim. Then I realized that if most people’s excitement level never varies between zero to three out of ten, mine usually hovers constantly around twelve. Using the same scale, that measurement would be the same for my curiosity of the unknown, for my appreciation of sight, sound, and touch, and for my belief that we create each day we wake to.
Later I imagined my cup, bubbling over the rim, next to another cup containing only a few teaspoons of liquid. Then I imagined thousands of cups with various amounts of liquid from water to wine, from freezing to scalding and in every color. If these cups represented each of us, how could anybody possibly share the same experience?
That exercise made me more fully understand the preciousness of connecting with someone else on the same frequency. From the moment we are born, from the way we have been reared, we experience our world differently. A dark night may be calming to one and frightening to another. A joke may make one laugh or another feel insulted. A shiny beetle may evoke wonder or terror. An expansive sea may summon tranquility or loneliness.
So we must not be disappointed when a friend does not see the same image in a cloud as ourselves as we gaze into the sky. But when we do, we must be thankful and say to our friend, “I am glad I was here to experience this with you.”