A walk with Sheldon. If you’re out and about in Red Deer, you’ve seen Sheldon. He’s everywhere and he’s always walking. Slow and steady, through the pathways and streets of Red Deer in every season – usually wearing a hockey jersey or t-shirt.
He’s a giant of a man, a friendly giant. He’s quick to smile and remove his earphones when you approach him, and always shakes your hand with his big glove of a hand. He wants to say hi and to understand who you are, but other than that, he is a man of few words. Sometimes people fall into step beside him and I’ve seen groups slowly making their way down a street, matching his silent steps.
Many of the activities in my life also involve silence. Reading, writing, yoga, quiet walks. I understand that silence can also be a strategy – as a journalist I have filled it in an effort to make people more comfortable when I’m interviewing them and I have prolonged it to make others uncomfortable when they haven’t answered an important question! Thing is, there is rarely silence when I am with other people. Walking together in silence challenged me a bit, and I finally turned to speak with Sheldon beside me.
I asked him if he liked to walk alone or with other people.
“Both. I like both.”
I asked him what walking gave him.
“Peace. Joy. Happiness.”
I told him I wrote a column and that I would like to write about him. He stopped his stroll, faced me with joy and took my hand again. I asked his permission to take a photo and the process was repeated: joy and handshake. Then we started walking again.
I knew then that this was the third in my little personal challenges, to see how long I could walk silently beside him. Not long, it seems (I would fail at a silent retreat). I knew the topic of hockey would get him going and I heard about stats and teams and a fella who just matched Gretzky’s goal count that very day. Then back to silence.
As a recovering journalist, I have spent my entire career trying to entice people to chat. But even when I was doing it, it sometimes felt like an intrusion.
I send a silent thank you to the universe that those days are behind me. I walked a bit longer and then thanked Sheldon. The process repeated:
He stopped, faced me with a joyful smile and took my hand again. And then walked silently away. In a world of noise and extraverts, holding steadfast to such a demeanour is a gift, and I’m so glad Sheldon is happy to share it. Silence IS golden.
Visit Sandy’s website at LifeInRetirement.ca
