On the split-second choice between assumption and curiosity—and why imperfection might be the point
I just spent the entire weekend ugly-crying over a book, and I already want to read it again.
Because this wasn’t just any casual summer read—it was a very entertaining story about an 86-year-old man who shows up in a small town and proceeds to demolish everything the people there thought they knew about living well.
His name is Theo, and he transforms everyone he encounters through the radical act of actually seeing people. Really seeing them. Behind their masks and defenses and foibles.
As I read about him I thought: Yes! This. This is how I want to move through the world.
But then there’s Costco on a Saturday afternoon
Yesterday, I found myself in one of those fluorescent-lit monuments to American excess, surrounded by throngs of humanity in full-on greed mode. The panic buying, the cart battles, the checkout line snaking all the way to the back of the warehouse like some dystopian maze.
Sitting at home reading in my peaceful forest sanctuary, it was so easy to feel genuine compassion for my fellow humans—what they don’t know, can’t see, how they’re suffering, hurting one another.
But face-to-face with someone ramming their cart into position ahead of me? Despite 45 years of work on myself, despite all my spiritual practices, I revert to pure survival mode. I get just as angry and defensive as the rest of them.
Sometimes I manage to keep it internal, but let’s be honest—sometimes I don’t.
The eye roll.
The smart remark under my breath.
I’m no different from the cart-rammer, I just hide it better.
The ultimate test of spiritual growth: Saturday afternoon at Costco. Photo by gibblesmash asdf on Unsplash
The gap between who we think we are and who we actually become
And apparently I’m not the only one living this gap between aspiration and reality.
I once watched a famous meditation guru berate his crying baby backstage, then walk onstage in his white robe and turban to preach equanimity to hundreds of devoted followers.
At another highly-lauded spiritual gathering, I overheard a teacher tell perfectly normal-sized students they had to sleep on the floor because they were “too fat” to deserve better accommodations.
And these are just a few highlights.
Maybe they were consciously performing spirituality while secretly being assholes. But I think they genuinely believed they were being not just “spiritual,” but exemplary. They wrapped their egos in robes and meditation cushions and thought it made them evolved. They mistook espousing spiritual concepts for actual transformation.
Thank god I’m not like that. Right?
Until Costco. On a Saturday.
The gap between who we think we are and who we become when we’re triggered? That’s where we all live most of the time.
What if the gap isn’t the enemy?
But what if the aspiration gap isn’t the problem? What if the issue isn’t being imperfect humans who sometimes fail at our highest aspirations?
What if the problem is thinking spiritual growth or being ‘evolved’ means never getting triggered? Being a good person means never feeling defensive or angry or petty? Never having a ‘bad’ thought? Evolution means transcending our humanity instead of embracing it?
My friend and mentor Cherie has this thing she always says: “The best things come when you approach people and life from a place of good will and curiosity.”
Good will and curiosity. Not perfection. Not having it all figured out. Not being beyond the reach of our own bullshit.
Just… good will and curiosity.
What would it look like to move through the world like that? To treat our daily existence—our interactions, our attention, our way of being with people—as a living work of art instead of chasing traditional markers of success?
That’s exactly what Theo does. He shows up in this small Southern town full of genuine curiosity about the people around him. He sees portraits hanging in a coffee shop and wonders about the stories behind each face.
So he starts buying them, one by one, and tracking down the people in the paintings to give them their portraits. Not as some ostentatious attention-seeking gesture. Just because he’s truly curious about who they are. Who is the messy soul behind each face?
And in his curiosity—in his willingness to see strangers as interesting rather than threatening—pure magic happens.
What stories live behind the faces we pass every day? Photo by Derek Lee on Unsplash
Here’s the thing: Deep down, I actually believe we’re all kindred. Kin. A human family. I really do believe the meaning behind the word “Namaste” (the divine spark living in me bows to the divine spark living in you).
I know this sounds impossibly naive. But I can’t shake this feeling we should all be running up to strangers with a joyful ‘Hello, you!’ instead of fear. The invisible homeless person we step over on our way out of yoga class is someone’s beloved child. The cart-rammer at Costco is probably totally overwhelmed and just trying to get through their day.
But we don’t live this way, do we? We live guarded. Suspicious. Ready to defend against the next potential threat.
Why we close off
And I get it—there are real reasons we’re cautious. We’ve been hurt before. We’ve been taken advantage of, dismissed, judged. We’ve learned not everyone deserves our trust. We’ve been raised to treat strangers like potential threats instead of potential friends.
Hell, some of us even grew up in places where such wariness was actual survival. And then there’s the simple fact: opening your heart to every person you meet is exhausting. Especially if you’re highly sensitive. Especially if you actually feel the weight of other people’s pain.
So we close off. We put on our armor. We rush through our days with our heads down and our walls up.
But Theo somehow found a different way. He doesn’t approach people like he’s trying to save them or fix them or even help them. He approaches them like he’s genuinely curious about their story. Like he assumes there’s something beautiful and interesting beneath the surface he’s never seen before. And wants to find.
And this creates space for people to be seen as they truly are. Really seen. Maybe for the first time in years. Or ever.
The split-second choice that changes everything
You see, when someone cuts in line, I can assume they’re an entitled asshole. Or I can get curious about what kind of urgency might drive someone to risk public judgment.
When the person ahead of me is taking forever, fumbling with coupons and counting out exact change, I can fume about my wasted time. Or feel compassion for what it must be like to live on such a tight budget where every penny matters.
When someone’s rude to the cashier, I can write them off as an irredeemable jerk. Or remember the tired saying “hurt people hurt people” is really true, and something’s probably going very wrong in their life right now.
When a panhandler approaches me and I feel a familiar mix of guilt and annoyance, I can avoid eye contact and hurry past. Or look them in the eye and acknowledge their humanity—whether I give them anything or not.
But my impulse is always to give them the benefit of the doubt and help. But then I stop myself. Not because I can’t afford it. Because I’m afraid of being seen as gullible. A pushover. Someone who “falls for it.”
But Theo doesn’t seem to carry this kind of baggage. He just acts from genuine interest in people. No agenda. No need to be seen as smart or sophisticated or appropriately cautious.
Every interaction is a choice between assumption and curiousity | Photo by holigil 27 on Unsplash
Becoming a living work of art
Theo’s not trying to prove anything or protect his reputation. He’s just… curious. About the man with his head down behind the counter. The homeless woman in the park. The story behind each face in those portraits.
And somehow, in his freedom from social judgment, he becomes something I’ve always wanted to be without realizing it: a living work of art.
Not someone who just creates art or achieves artistic success (whatever that is). But someone whose very existence—whose way of moving through the world—creates beauty. Someone who makes life more interesting and meaningful just by being present to it. Someone who sees people instead of just looking at them.
I probably won’t master this. Hell, I’ll probably fail at it spectacularly the next time I’m at Costco. Again.
But maybe that’s okay. Maybe the point isn’t perfection. Maybe it’s just taking a split-second pause. The tiny shift from assumption to curiosity. From story to wonder.
The book that started it all
By the way, the book that cracked me open this weekend is called Theo of Golden by Allen Levi.
Don’t worry—this isn’t some preachy spiritual manual disguised as fiction. It’s genuinely entertaining. Engrossing. Witty writing, intriguing mystery, characters so real you’ll want to move to their town. The deep wisdom is woven in so naturally you won’t even realize you’re being transformed until you are.
But be warned: if you read it, prepare to ugly-cry.
And then re-read it again immediately.
Just like I’m about to do.
Ready to question what you never thought to question? I share insights about breaking invisible rules and trusting your inner knowing in my newsletter, The Freeflow Rebellion. Join others who’ve discovered that the permission they were waiting for was never required.
