by Camron Wright

I’m not social by nature (though I’m trying). Don’t get me wrong. When someone sits beside me on a flight, I do say hello (assuming they make eye contact first), but then I’m content to slap on my headphones and tune out the world—that was until I met Joyelle.

I noticed her in the airport as we waited to board a flight. She wasn't hard to miss. She sported leather moccasins that wrapped up her ankles, feathers that dangled from her lively reddish hair, and an outfit Pocahontas would have adored. Did I mention she also carried a Native American headdress?

Despite the costume, she looked extremely familiar. So, as the line moved forward, I leaned over and asked if we’d previously met. (As I said, I do occasionally step out of my comfort zone.) We chatted, confirmed I was mistaken, and while I was content to leave it there, Joyelle was just getting started. She said she was from Oregon, heading home after her first visit to Utah—and then she noticed I was staring at her headdress. “I took it off downtown,” she confirmed with a smile as we stepped onto the plane, “because people were looking at me funny.”

Joyelle, I learned, is what many would call a free spirit. (Hippie-chick was actually the first word that popped into my head, but that’s probably not politically correct.) She said she’d been in Utah for a doTERRA convention (I may have secretly rolled my eyes), and the girl was certainly passionate about her essential oils. She added that her path often crossed with people she was supposed to meet, and it must have been true, because as I found my row, I was seated right beside her. (Perhaps it just confirms that God has a keen sense of humor.)

At this point I could feel my arm twitching. My head was telling my hand to reach into my bag and retrieve my noise-cancelling headphones. However, a second voice, one deeper inside my chest, was so in awe at the genuineness of this essential-oil-selling-faux-Indian that it commanded my hand (and the rest of my body) to stop, shut up, and listen—and listen I did.

I learned that while Joyelle is passionate about her oils, it is perhaps not all about making a profit. I say that because she offered to give me a special blend I could use before speaking at book events to boost my confidence (always needed), but then she realized she had already given away her oils to others. I learned that she once owned a crystal shop, the kind used for healing and spirituality, and when she’s upset, she hugs a tree because it’s grounded to the earth. As we talked, she threw in terms like birth guardian, chakra, and goddess and it didn’t take long to recognize Joyelle hangs with the granola crowd. I shouldn’t have been surprised when she added that she and her husband also grow "medicinal herbs" (it’s legal in Oregon) on their organic farm. (Naturally—I’d expect nothing less!)

Have I painted a sufficient picture? What else did I learn as I chatted with this herb-growing, tree-hugging, feather-wearing, self-proclaimed "Resident-Goddess-of-her-own-Divine-Life" (I still don’t know what that means)? I learned that Joyelle is perhaps the most likable, compassionate, accepting, and thoughtful person I have ever had the pleasure to meet. I learned that she was missing her children, particularly a daughter who has a hard time when her mother is away. I saw a love for friends, family, and strangers radiating so brightly from Joyelle’s eyes that I almost needed sunglasses.

There was a moment, for example, when a baby began to cry a few rows away. Joyelle’s gaze immediately darted toward the cry and she almost jumped from her seat, wanting to be of help to the child—and would have had the fasten seatbelt sign not been glowing.

Several minutes later, when a flight attendant pushed past a drink cart, Joyelle took the time to thank her for making our flight more comfortable. Then, for the balance of the flight, we chatted and chatted and chatted—Joyelle is a talker—and as the plane began its descent, I realized that she had been right about our paths being meant to cross—only not for her, but for me.

Is Joyelle peculiar? Yes, off the charts. Am I peculiar to her? Most likely. And that’s the point. The lesson waving its arms in my head was a realization that weirdness (including mine) doesn’t matter. What matters is that we develop respect, consideration, understanding, and a genuine love for our neighbors—even our “quirky” neighbors. I think Heaven was telling me to pay attention to Joyelle because I should be more like her.

Now don’t get me wrong. I seriously doubt that I’ll ever care about essential oils (though my wife has an amazing recipe for orange scones that uses 5 drops). I won’t be hugging trees. I won’t be donning a headdress. What I am going to do is attempt to be more compassionate, accepting, and generous. I want to care about other people the way my newfound hippie-chick friend Joyelle cares about others.

When I arrived home, Joyelle’s first Facebook post was to reach out to friends to find used clothing for a homeless family she’d just met. I think Heaven probably had a hand in that meeting as well.

—

Camron Wright is the author of several bestselling books including Letters for Emily, The Rent Collector, The Orphan Keeper, The Other Side of the Bridge, Christmas by Accident, and In Times or Rain and War.