How the Trust Guy Opened My Heart

Despite Saturday’s sweltering temperatures, The Trust Guy was on the downtown mall. Pedestrians meandering between shops and restaurants changed their pace as they neared his sign which read “I’ll Trust You. Will You Trust Me?” Some arced away, shuffling their feet across the brick walkway while shaking their heads. Others took a few steps closer and stared at the blindfolded man who waited to be hugged. A few reached out their arms then stepped shyly away.

Rain or shine, David Reid comes to the downtown mall for two hours each week to offer hugs free of charge. A member of a local mindfulness organization, Reid does this to promote compassion. He’s a balding guy with gray curls and a wrinkle-free forehead who is unafraid to be completely vulnerable in front of a crowd.

For the past three weeks I’ve been asking my Writing from Your Bones students to be that vulnerable, except the crowd they’re confronting is mostly in their heads—the judge, the procrastinator, the cynic. They’ve come to the page on a regular basis despite busy schedules and minds that throw them curve balls when the work feels too honest.

In class, I promote the power of allowing yourself to write junk. I’ve advised them to write in clichés. Scratch down something and plan to throw it out. Intentionally write their worst stuff. In other words, have a little fun. The first time I said this jaws dropped. One woman scratched her temple. Another wrote down the words then let the pen hover over them like she planned to cross them out.

“Trust me,” I said, “it works.”

My class reminds me of the importance of maintaining a beginner’s mind, especially in the middle stage of a project. When I expect brilliance instead of accepting my mediocrity (a la Cheryl Strayed), my pen falters. Even though I’ve been writing for a while, there’s more crap to wade through, or what Anne Lamott calls shitty first drafts. It’s possible that all I need to do right now is turn my shitty shitty first drafts into less shitty second ones while I continue to integrate the lessons of this project and find the deeper meaning in my work. I’m also generating new material—tangents, side projects, and pieces I need to write in order to get to the ones that belong in the book. For me, new work is like the blindfolded man on the mall. It helps me stay open.

Watching The Trust Guy was like participating in a social experiment. Many people paused and read his sign. Some pressed fingers into the divot between their lip and nose or grabbed their chins, perhaps confronting both their need to trust and the difficulty of doing so in a world as confused and crazy as our own.

The writing process is fraught with just as much doubt. It’s so much easier to check my phone, plan to scrub the shower grout, or consider Portland, Oregon’s weather. Digging deep into my thoughts requires me to put on the blindfold, open my arms, and wait without judgement, welcoming anything that comes to me as if it’s what I’ve been waiting for.

What if it is?

As the sun boiled up a sweaty sheen on my upper lip, I decided to be the arms The Trust Guy was waiting for. I walked up to Dave and said, “I’m going to trust you,” then I hugged him. I thanked him for helping me develop greater self-awareness and explore the challenging parts of myself. As a thank you, he hugged me a little tighter. The experience was delightful.

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