Morf Morford--My Wife Says That I Am The Master Of The First Impression

My Wife Says That I Am The Master Of The First Impression

Morf Morford

© Copyright 2025 by Morf Morford

It is not a compliment.

One of the dimensions of marriage few of us consider is how much your partner reflects on one’s identity, character and values.

My identity and character, apparently, at those memorable and irreplaceable “first” meetings, might be a little “too memorable”.

One of my wife’s “observations” is that, as she put it, “You talk to anybody, don’t you?”.

Yes, I do.

I ramble into conversations with strangers at bus stop, grocery store check-out lanes or anywhere else.

I have discovered that my wife and I have opposite philosophies when it comes to meeting people for the first time.

I find fellow humans absolutely fascinating.

Each one of us, from toddlers to older adults, negotiate the demands of life in our own ways.

In short, we, without thinking about it, figure out what “works”.

And what we “like” in a larger sense.

Do we like, or prefer, control? Safety? Distraction? Being left alone? NOT being left alone?

Do we like to be anonymous in a group or family and do our best to blend in? Or do we prefer to distinguish ourselves from everyone else?

When I meet people, I find myself asking indirectly what sets them apart, what defines them, what makes them unique.

The vast majority of people I meet gladly welcome to talk about themselves with someone with no obligations, agenda or stakes, except to listen.

I am rarely if ever, very revealing, or even terribly interested in who I am, or what I do that may (or may not) impress others.

I consider myself as a visitor to their world, with the reigning assumption that they know something I should, and need to, know.

Even four or five-year-olds have adventures and discoveries to share.

Men, women, immigrants, refugees, working people, retired or unemployed, old and young, they all have stories to tell – but they don’t always have someone to listen.

I listen. With interest, if not amazement.

Stories of survival, encounters, disasters and escapes; the human story, and how we tell it is endlessly fascinating, harrowing and inspiring.

From a ten-year old telling me about climbing a tree to a refugee from a war-torn region, triumphs, confrontation and encounters with nature, injuries and ethical dilemmas are what make us human.

And telling our stories is what reminds us that, beyond our differences in age, culture, race and beliefs, we learn, adjust, negotiate and make sense (to some degree) of this ever-baffling world around us.

Loss and grief, are, perhaps for all of us, just part of the deal.

No one gets out of here alive; it has been said.

And few, if any of us, gets out without noticeable, and memorable scars and stories.

We persist and keep moving. Until, that is, we don’t.

But even then, at some level, whether on this physical earth or beyond, in the memories and conversations of friends, family or total strangers, some residue of memory lingers on.

The irony of most of my meetings with strangers is that I rarely ask more than one or two questions; but with those few questions, I open the way for them to speak – or not.

I am not even remotely interested in whether they “agree” with me politically or philosophically – or even what they are having for lunch or a drink.

In fact I find their differences the most interesting of all.

Some I have known seek out people that they “agree with”.

I don’t know how anyone would do that – and I would find it immediately boring and predictable to have an impromptu discussion with someone who, it appears, has nothing new to tell me.

It is in the collisions, the encounters with the new, even inconceivable, that opens the way for me to learn, not only about them, but about myself.

Thanks to total strangers, my horizons of what it is to be human are perpetually, sometimes almost forcefully expanded.

Sometimes I walk away from one of these conversations challenged. or inspired. Or humbled. Or more grateful for the life I have found myself in.

Some I have met have gone through horrific eras of persecution, addiction, abuse or loss. Others have achieved remarkable things. Some have done both.

Some carry wounds, tangible and visible, others carry their pain with grace, if not elegance.

But we all, it seems, carry burdens that would crush our souls if we let them.

Or if we could see them. Or bear to listen to them.

Of course most of us don’t want to hear those stories, or see the evidence of their struggles.

Most of us are blinded by our own challenges and difficulties, and it doesn’t occur to us that the struggles of others can shed light, or even a sense of release on our own.

If nothing else, the struggles of others give us much needed perspective.

As overwhelming as my concerns seem to me, they usually pale in comparison to the difficulties others have faced – and survived.

Human beings are (almost) endlessly resilient and resourceful and capable of much more than many of us could have imagined.

Those unexpected, and often borderline unbelievable, stories of encounters with terror, upheaval, even fame or fortune, are what make us human.

Most of us go to movies or watch fictional dramas on a screen at home.

Real life stories, told directly by those who lived through them, are vastly more sobering, vivid and memorable than and CGI superhero movie.

Hurricanes, persecutions, assaults and, yes even celebrity status, are things not all of us will experience directly, but they, and stories of experiencing them, like a massive tsunami or tremor, leave ripples across the fabric of the lives of everyone who encounters them.

The irony, and beauty, of hearing these stories is the unspoken realization that we humans, and maybe even all living things are one in a sense few of us ever notice.

Our unity, our shared humanity, in spite of a myriad of very different experiences and encounters is what prevails and what defines us.

We are not alone. And we are not so different from each other, no matter how convincing our visible differing circumstances might be.

Not everyone wants to hear these stories of course, and there are not many safe spaces to share them. And not many willing ears to hear them.

Many, of course, fear those stories, and what they may reveal about our own lives – and hearts - and souls.

And many seek to divide us, and set us against each other precisely because of our differences.

Fear and self-absorption will never heal us, and will never open the way for those stories of persecution, escape and restoration to be told.

But we need to hear them. Experiences of courage and triumph are best encountered and heard in real life – not on a screen.

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