I wrote in here a while ago about my BFF being a good egg, talking about how she is eager to give a compliment...a sincere compliment, and how that inspires me to want to blurt out the good things I see in others because it does a world of good for those who hear it.
Right now this BFF, Maryann, is doing something I can't and don't want to imagine. She is sitting by the man she loves, watching him die. He was diagnosed with cancer about a week and a half ago, given "weeks to live" a couple of days ago, and the day after that was told "it may just be days." Apparently this form of cancer is extremely rare, aggressive, and there are zero treatment options available.
The kicker of all of this is that as she sits there with his mom and dad, she writes a journal full of compliments on a website. She writes about her boyfriend, Tim, his strength and dignity in wrestling with death. She writes about hospice and the doctors and nurses, about how amazing and kind they are... She writes thank yous upon thank yous to people who have simply baked a pie or taken five minutes to write some kind words to Tim.
The other kicker is that Tim's mom, as she watches her son die, also writes about others' kindness, about the words from friends, from people she has never met... she writes about the "surprising sweetness" of being able to read the kind words of those love her son, the kind words we only write in the face of death.
I've been reading them too. Reading through the really cool things that others have to say about Tim. Reading through great tributes and thank yous and kind words and compliments, and I wonder, why do we wait until it might be too late for kind words?
The situation reminds me that there is no reason to keep kind words to ourselves. There is no reason to keep compliments and encouragement from others.
As always, I want to be like Maryann when I grow up. She is patient and kind and show tremendous strength in the most difficult situations.
I think maybe I will tell her that right now.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
Measuring Stick
There is a height chart at the door of Daniel's preschool, and every time we drop Daniel off and pick him up, Nolan has to measure himself. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Now, I am not sure if it is because I say, "Wow, look how big you are!" each time he measures himself, or if it is because there is just something in us that needs to measure ourselves.
If it's a combination of the two, then that brings up something interesting. We need to measure ourselves in order to be given the reassurance that we are growing in the right direction. Now, I've noticed that for some people, it doesn't necessarily matter if we get an external "Look how big you are!" But we do need to know where we stand. I do. I need to know where I am with everything. Don't you?
I find myself doing the same thing Nolan does at Daniel's preschool. Every day I assess my home. Failure. Ugly window treatments. Clutter. Laundry all over the house not put away. Dishes in the sink. Not put away. Goobers and crumbs on the floor. Toys. Toys. Toys... with no place to go. You are on the very bottom of the "beautiful home" measuring stick, Emily.
I find myself doing this with motherhood. Daniel was screaming at and beating up Nolan yesterday after Jeff left for work. When his time out ended and I asked him what was going on, if he was sad because Daddy was gone, he started to cry and said this, "I am sad because I miss Daddy and it makes me feel better to be mean to Nolan." Talk about a measuring stick. Talk about my childhood. I am sure I am to blame for this.
What a weird thing sibling rivalry is too... It's all about establishing a pecking order. Who is the favorite? Who is the best at this? Who is better at that? Amazing how it develops our personalities and puts up roadblocks for things. Amazing how there exists a measuring stick there too.
The worst thing about operating with a need for a measuring stick is that often I use other people's comments to be my measuring stick. Someone gives me a compliment on my shoes, eyes, smile, and suddenly I'm a few notches up on the physical attractiveness measuring stick.
I don't take the time to work out for a week. I look in the mirror and notice that I have been wearing sweats all week, trying to look like I'm going to work out, but really just wind up looking like a slobby SAHM who has let herself go... 6 notches down on the physical attractiveness measuring stick.
I conduct a training. Something intelligent somehow comes out of my mouth during the presentation. A teacher writes down a comment about how great I am as a presenter. Way up on the measuring stick...
A teacher makes a comment about how I made them feel excluded from the conversation or how the curriculum isn't this or isn't that (something I don't actually have a lot of control over..) but still... WAY down on the measuring stick.
And one part of the problem is that people are a horrible measuring stick. People are emotional and irrational sometimes. Not to mention that our opinions are all very different about what is funny or clever or inspirational. Our expectations of each other are all over the place. Not to mention that we can't define what makes a good_________, but we sure do judge each other when we think someone else is a bad_________. Right?
I can't always put into words what makes a good writer, good mother, good wife, good cook, good friend, good teacher, good presenter, and I can't think of myself as a good--any of those things. Unless someone else says that I am a good_________. And I can only try for a repeat performance when other people say, "Wow, you make great carrot soup." or "I really enjoyed your blog about________ the other day." And if someone says something good about my writing or my cooking, I keep cooking. I keep writing. I keep the things that push me up on the invisible measuring stick. I don't even attempt the things that push me down on that same invisible measuring stick. And yet, there are voices in my head pushing me down on that measuring stick. I don't need anyone else to push me down. I put myself there...
So... how come I can't just create my own measuring stick for myself and stop relying on what others say or seem to think?
Because I'm my own worst critic?
Because I have completely unrealistic expectations of myself and of others?
Because I'm completely unreliable with what I deem as good writing, good mothering, good... based on my feelings of the day?
How come I can't just get rid of the measuring stick?
How come others can't just raise my stats on the measuring stick?
How come I don't just raise others' stats on their measuring sticks?
I keep trying to do that. I keep trying to write little notes or say the good things I see in people to raise their invisible measuring stick status.
But then I get in a bad mood. No one raises my measuring stick status. I start new birth control and my hormones go crazy and I hate my life. I scream at my kids and send my own measuring stick status into the toilet. I get so wrapped up in my own failing plummeting invisible measuring stick status that I stop looking for others' good things to raise them up, and I look for their crap to push them down. Or I push myself down because I forget to look for their good. And...
Again, I am an unreliable measuring stick. What if I had a reliable measuring stick that didn't change? What if that reliable measuring stick didn't even care how I measured up? And if my measuring stick dropped in the toilet, He would still love me and take me in...
Huh... guess I do. What if I actually accepted at trusted that?
If it's a combination of the two, then that brings up something interesting. We need to measure ourselves in order to be given the reassurance that we are growing in the right direction. Now, I've noticed that for some people, it doesn't necessarily matter if we get an external "Look how big you are!" But we do need to know where we stand. I do. I need to know where I am with everything. Don't you?
I find myself doing the same thing Nolan does at Daniel's preschool. Every day I assess my home. Failure. Ugly window treatments. Clutter. Laundry all over the house not put away. Dishes in the sink. Not put away. Goobers and crumbs on the floor. Toys. Toys. Toys... with no place to go. You are on the very bottom of the "beautiful home" measuring stick, Emily.
I find myself doing this with motherhood. Daniel was screaming at and beating up Nolan yesterday after Jeff left for work. When his time out ended and I asked him what was going on, if he was sad because Daddy was gone, he started to cry and said this, "I am sad because I miss Daddy and it makes me feel better to be mean to Nolan." Talk about a measuring stick. Talk about my childhood. I am sure I am to blame for this.
What a weird thing sibling rivalry is too... It's all about establishing a pecking order. Who is the favorite? Who is the best at this? Who is better at that? Amazing how it develops our personalities and puts up roadblocks for things. Amazing how there exists a measuring stick there too.
The worst thing about operating with a need for a measuring stick is that often I use other people's comments to be my measuring stick. Someone gives me a compliment on my shoes, eyes, smile, and suddenly I'm a few notches up on the physical attractiveness measuring stick.
I don't take the time to work out for a week. I look in the mirror and notice that I have been wearing sweats all week, trying to look like I'm going to work out, but really just wind up looking like a slobby SAHM who has let herself go... 6 notches down on the physical attractiveness measuring stick.
I conduct a training. Something intelligent somehow comes out of my mouth during the presentation. A teacher writes down a comment about how great I am as a presenter. Way up on the measuring stick...
A teacher makes a comment about how I made them feel excluded from the conversation or how the curriculum isn't this or isn't that (something I don't actually have a lot of control over..) but still... WAY down on the measuring stick.
And one part of the problem is that people are a horrible measuring stick. People are emotional and irrational sometimes. Not to mention that our opinions are all very different about what is funny or clever or inspirational. Our expectations of each other are all over the place. Not to mention that we can't define what makes a good_________, but we sure do judge each other when we think someone else is a bad_________. Right?
I can't always put into words what makes a good writer, good mother, good wife, good cook, good friend, good teacher, good presenter, and I can't think of myself as a good--any of those things. Unless someone else says that I am a good_________. And I can only try for a repeat performance when other people say, "Wow, you make great carrot soup." or "I really enjoyed your blog about________ the other day." And if someone says something good about my writing or my cooking, I keep cooking. I keep writing. I keep the things that push me up on the invisible measuring stick. I don't even attempt the things that push me down on that same invisible measuring stick. And yet, there are voices in my head pushing me down on that measuring stick. I don't need anyone else to push me down. I put myself there...
So... how come I can't just create my own measuring stick for myself and stop relying on what others say or seem to think?
Because I'm my own worst critic?
Because I have completely unrealistic expectations of myself and of others?
Because I'm completely unreliable with what I deem as good writing, good mothering, good... based on my feelings of the day?
How come I can't just get rid of the measuring stick?
How come others can't just raise my stats on the measuring stick?
How come I don't just raise others' stats on their measuring sticks?
I keep trying to do that. I keep trying to write little notes or say the good things I see in people to raise their invisible measuring stick status.
But then I get in a bad mood. No one raises my measuring stick status. I start new birth control and my hormones go crazy and I hate my life. I scream at my kids and send my own measuring stick status into the toilet. I get so wrapped up in my own failing plummeting invisible measuring stick status that I stop looking for others' good things to raise them up, and I look for their crap to push them down. Or I push myself down because I forget to look for their good. And...
Again, I am an unreliable measuring stick. What if I had a reliable measuring stick that didn't change? What if that reliable measuring stick didn't even care how I measured up? And if my measuring stick dropped in the toilet, He would still love me and take me in...
Huh... guess I do. What if I actually accepted at trusted that?
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Natural Ability vs. Natural Affection...
According to Malcolm Gladwell, it takes 10,000 hours of anything to become an "expert" at anything. The study found no cases on either end. No people who could become experts prior to spending 10,000 hours doing something, and no cases of people who put in the time and effort of 10,000 hours who did not become experts and excell in their field.
This makes me wonder about whether God gives us a natural ability to do certain things, or simply a natural affection for those things.
I write because I love to think, and I think in language. I am not sure why I think in words, sometimes in poetry, but never, ever in images.
Jeff knows how to cut images together at certain speeds that make them intensely exciting or sad, knows how to put images and music together to create a video experience that I would never imagine. He mentioned that the entire control room at work was full of tapes that he had to go through in order to find the right clips to make the Rockies History video. The thought of sifting through video clips in order to find the right images to put together an entire history of an organization made me physically nauseous.
It is so foreign to me that someone could "think in images."
I mentioned this the other night and Jeff said, "I thought everyone thought that way."
And it makes me wonder how other people think. How do you think? In words? Images? Smells? Could you think in smells?
But I think we have these natural gifts, these ways of seeing, thinking, feeling that are God-given. We have no control over them.
But we don't naturally have skills. We have to learn how to use those natural tools to access the world/our thoughts/responses to the world in order to become experts in whatever field God has given us to love.
What I mean is that for as long as I can remember, if something really moves me, I stop thinking normally and suddenly think in poetry.
I have a natural affection for words. I involuntarily take what I see, hear, feel, smell, or taste and translate that into words, but... I wasn't born knowing how to do that. I had to learn that skill. I had to learn the words. I had to play with rhyming and capitalizing and not capitalizing and not rhyming, and turn this into a metaphor or use anaphora to make this idea stand out, but stop the anaphora here so that these other ideas intentionally melded into the beginning thought or... I had to learn all of those things to become a better poet. The poems I write now are much better than those that I wrote in 7th grade, and I had to learn how to do that. I didn't know I was learning because "studying" doesn't sound fun, but I studied and studied and studied, when I was in middle and high school, this craft of poetry by reading it and writing it constantly. Do I have my 10,000 hours in? Probably not. But I might be getting close.
The point is that I do that because I LOVE it. It challenges me and drives me to continue to play and challenge myself. I wouldn't do it if I didn't love it.
I wasn't born a writer. But I was born to love to write.
This makes me wonder about whether God gives us a natural ability to do certain things, or simply a natural affection for those things.
I write because I love to think, and I think in language. I am not sure why I think in words, sometimes in poetry, but never, ever in images.
Jeff knows how to cut images together at certain speeds that make them intensely exciting or sad, knows how to put images and music together to create a video experience that I would never imagine. He mentioned that the entire control room at work was full of tapes that he had to go through in order to find the right clips to make the Rockies History video. The thought of sifting through video clips in order to find the right images to put together an entire history of an organization made me physically nauseous.
It is so foreign to me that someone could "think in images."
I mentioned this the other night and Jeff said, "I thought everyone thought that way."
And it makes me wonder how other people think. How do you think? In words? Images? Smells? Could you think in smells?
But I think we have these natural gifts, these ways of seeing, thinking, feeling that are God-given. We have no control over them.
But we don't naturally have skills. We have to learn how to use those natural tools to access the world/our thoughts/responses to the world in order to become experts in whatever field God has given us to love.
What I mean is that for as long as I can remember, if something really moves me, I stop thinking normally and suddenly think in poetry.
I have a natural affection for words. I involuntarily take what I see, hear, feel, smell, or taste and translate that into words, but... I wasn't born knowing how to do that. I had to learn that skill. I had to learn the words. I had to play with rhyming and capitalizing and not capitalizing and not rhyming, and turn this into a metaphor or use anaphora to make this idea stand out, but stop the anaphora here so that these other ideas intentionally melded into the beginning thought or... I had to learn all of those things to become a better poet. The poems I write now are much better than those that I wrote in 7th grade, and I had to learn how to do that. I didn't know I was learning because "studying" doesn't sound fun, but I studied and studied and studied, when I was in middle and high school, this craft of poetry by reading it and writing it constantly. Do I have my 10,000 hours in? Probably not. But I might be getting close.
The point is that I do that because I LOVE it. It challenges me and drives me to continue to play and challenge myself. I wouldn't do it if I didn't love it.
I wasn't born a writer. But I was born to love to write.
Monday, November 7, 2011
A Blessing or a Curse?
Been thinking lately about giftedness.
Been struggling with what to do with Daniel and long-term schooling.
Wondering if I push him too hard to be more than he is.
Wondering if I just see his potential and fear his not arriving at that potential later on because the educational system in this country does not meet or exceed my standards, nor does it service the students the way it should.
Wondering if the reason I'm "sensitive" or that I "overreact" to things is because I, too, am "gifted" and grew up just understanding that I was "different." Not bad, just more... in tune to emotions... more in tune with what others feel and think... more curious at "the meaning of it all."
The reason I wonder is because of this article.
http://www.sengifted.org/articles_social/Lind_OverexcitabilityAndTheGifted.shtml
A new friend, a woman named Laura, that I met while I was traveling this week gave me this article, and it opened up a whole new world of understanding about my husband, my child, and my teenage years.
I remember talking to a friend in high school, saying, "You know, I just feel like I've never fit in. I have never felt rejected or pushed away or bullied or anything like that. I just... feel like I have always been in a different place."
And she said, "That's because you are."
"Huh?"
"My last two thoughts were, Did I remember a sports bra for practice? and I'm hungry. I wonder if I have 50 cents to go get a bag of Cheetos. What were your last two thoughts?
"Huh. Well, I was just wondering if I was prioritizing my life properly because I seem to spend too much time on my homework and when I look back on my life I will want to remember the great times I spent with my friends in high school, as opposed to spending so much time with my nose in a book. Because I think it will always come back to relationships being more important than the amount I study. And really, the whole point of life is people."
"See."
"What do you mean, 'See.'?"
"I mean, I'm thinking about Cheetos, and you're wondering about the meaning of life."
"Oh."
This conversation comes to mind because I have been trying to figure out why Daniel doesn't seem normal to me. Could it be that he wants to line everything up perfectly? Make perfect circles with the chocolate chips when he's helping me bake? Because he's teaching himself to read at age 3? Because he can see a word printed once the day before and I come downstairs to find it written all over a piece of paper?
And when Laura explained overexcitabilities caused by giftedness, Daniel made so much more sense.
And it makes me wonder about all of these beautiful things God gifts us with and that they come as blessings and curses.
The person who can intensely see and experience a sunset and translate that into a painting or poem or song or video or sculpture with ease conversely can't handle experiencing too much visual input.
A cook with the ability to distinguish the intricacies of flavor is also prone to overeating just to experience the flavors he/she loves to explore so much.
A person so smart and capable of thinking and thinking about thinking lives to think about things, but when there is no new input, no new thinking challenge, no problem to solve, he becomes depressed because his brain is bored...
Anyway, just what I've been thinking about. Reminds me of Spiderman. "With great power comes great responsibility." So true, so true.
Been struggling with what to do with Daniel and long-term schooling.
Wondering if I push him too hard to be more than he is.
Wondering if I just see his potential and fear his not arriving at that potential later on because the educational system in this country does not meet or exceed my standards, nor does it service the students the way it should.
Wondering if the reason I'm "sensitive" or that I "overreact" to things is because I, too, am "gifted" and grew up just understanding that I was "different." Not bad, just more... in tune to emotions... more in tune with what others feel and think... more curious at "the meaning of it all."
The reason I wonder is because of this article.
http://www.sengifted.org/articles_social/Lind_OverexcitabilityAndTheGifted.shtml
A new friend, a woman named Laura, that I met while I was traveling this week gave me this article, and it opened up a whole new world of understanding about my husband, my child, and my teenage years.
I remember talking to a friend in high school, saying, "You know, I just feel like I've never fit in. I have never felt rejected or pushed away or bullied or anything like that. I just... feel like I have always been in a different place."
And she said, "That's because you are."
"Huh?"
"My last two thoughts were, Did I remember a sports bra for practice? and I'm hungry. I wonder if I have 50 cents to go get a bag of Cheetos. What were your last two thoughts?
"Huh. Well, I was just wondering if I was prioritizing my life properly because I seem to spend too much time on my homework and when I look back on my life I will want to remember the great times I spent with my friends in high school, as opposed to spending so much time with my nose in a book. Because I think it will always come back to relationships being more important than the amount I study. And really, the whole point of life is people."
"See."
"What do you mean, 'See.'?"
"I mean, I'm thinking about Cheetos, and you're wondering about the meaning of life."
"Oh."
This conversation comes to mind because I have been trying to figure out why Daniel doesn't seem normal to me. Could it be that he wants to line everything up perfectly? Make perfect circles with the chocolate chips when he's helping me bake? Because he's teaching himself to read at age 3? Because he can see a word printed once the day before and I come downstairs to find it written all over a piece of paper?
And when Laura explained overexcitabilities caused by giftedness, Daniel made so much more sense.
And it makes me wonder about all of these beautiful things God gifts us with and that they come as blessings and curses.
The person who can intensely see and experience a sunset and translate that into a painting or poem or song or video or sculpture with ease conversely can't handle experiencing too much visual input.
A cook with the ability to distinguish the intricacies of flavor is also prone to overeating just to experience the flavors he/she loves to explore so much.
A person so smart and capable of thinking and thinking about thinking lives to think about things, but when there is no new input, no new thinking challenge, no problem to solve, he becomes depressed because his brain is bored...
Anyway, just what I've been thinking about. Reminds me of Spiderman. "With great power comes great responsibility." So true, so true.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
It's like Art, Not like Math...
Sometimes, in being a parent, a teacher, a wife, a writer... I think maybe if I can just put a squared plus b squared, it will be c squared.
The problem with that is that not all relationships are right triangles, so it doesn't really work. It seems that everything I do must be treated more like a sculpture. There are certain tried and true methods to chipping away at a piece of marble to get it to look the right way, but there will always be that point in which the rock falls at exactly the wrong angle or it seems as though the rock is just working against me. And sometimes, I need to break free from wanting it to go exactly the way that I want it and sculpt along with the way the rock may fall away as I chisel. I will do my best to use my tried and true methods, while attempting to let the 'chips fall as they may' at the same time.
The problem with that is that not all relationships are right triangles, so it doesn't really work. It seems that everything I do must be treated more like a sculpture. There are certain tried and true methods to chipping away at a piece of marble to get it to look the right way, but there will always be that point in which the rock falls at exactly the wrong angle or it seems as though the rock is just working against me. And sometimes, I need to break free from wanting it to go exactly the way that I want it and sculpt along with the way the rock may fall away as I chisel. I will do my best to use my tried and true methods, while attempting to let the 'chips fall as they may' at the same time.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
On Being Grateful...
Recently I posted about how I am going to try to be a better good-seer. Amazing things have been happening with this Good-Seeing Project.
What's so amazing, you ask? Well, I noticed that I unintentionally SEE more good in people than I thought I did. I SEE this person's beautiful eyes or outfit or kind heart or creativity, etc... But I don't often SAY anything about those cool things to the person with the beautiful eyes or heart.
I often proclaim myself as "filter-less," and many times this gets me in trouble. I blurt out truths the way I see them then realize that I have inadvertantly crushed another's spirit or made a joke that was funny to some and hurtful to others. Mostly, this filter-less personality suits me well, because I'd rather be honest than fake, but this "good-seeing" thing has my filter going wacky.
This seeing without saying became quite clear while I was traveling this week. For example, the flight attendant on my plane the other day was really beautiful and had an endearing smile. I noticed this the first time I walked by her on the plane, and I thought to myself, wow, she has such a kind smile. And then I realized that I could just tell her that. That there is no reason for me to hog this wonderful feeling. I should share with her that just her smile made me feel happy and warm and cared for. So I did.
It was a little uncomfortable. She blushed. But she was even more smiley and kind to the next people in line, and I think it's better to take down my filter when I see cool things in people. Don't I hope they see them in me? Doesn't it feel great when random people tell me cool things they see in me as opposed to thinking them and not saying them because it might be awkward? Sure, sometimes it IS awkward, but better an awkward compliment that just might turn a person's day around, just might spread joy to many others than to be afraid of being awkward. What are they going to do? Punch you in the face for telling them you like their shoes? Come on.
So, I tried to notice and comment even more as I was traveling, and I realized that from the moment I arrive at the airport, I am constantly in a debt of gratitude when I am "on the road." Think about it. In order for me to successfully get from DIA to my hotel in San Antonio, Texas for work, the travel agent must book my flight and hotel room. The ticket agent must give me my plane ticket. Someone else must lift and transport my 50 lb. suitcase. The pilot must safely take off, fly, and land the plane, and in order for him to do that, he needs to be in contact with the people in the control tower, who need to communicate and direct all of the planes coming in and out of DIA/ San Antonio. Then, someone needs to get my bags from the plane to the luggage merry-go-round. Then the car rental shuttle bus driver runs to get my 50 lb. bag for me, calls me "love," and refuses my tip. Then another man laughs at my jokes and puts my bags in the car that someone else made sure was cleaned, fueled up, and running smoothly before I ever even stepped into the parking lot. Still another team of people created googlemaps for my iphone so that I could get from the car rental place to my hotel without missing a turn. (And, of course, all of those people it took to create my iphone...)
You get the idea, right? Because that's JUST to get from DIA to my hotel in San Antonio, and it takes hundreds more to have gathered the information that I studied to present to my participants...
The more I thought about this, the more grateful I became. And the more fun I had with the people helping me out.
I made a joke with the gentleman who checked my bag at the gateway, and five other people laughed. I teased the pilot at the coffee stand at the airport; we laughed. I smiled my biggest smile and thanked my biggest thank you to the cranky coffee stand barista. Well, she didn't care, but at least I tried.
And I left realizing that while travelers are "weary," they are grateful for a smile and a laugh. I know I am when I am dead on my feet, which are usually cramped into cute red pumps and aching, at the end of an exhausting 3 day workshop.
Now that I know that I SEE the good, I'm making an effort to SAY the good. The more I SAY the good, the more I SEE the good, and the more grateful I am for it.
What's so amazing, you ask? Well, I noticed that I unintentionally SEE more good in people than I thought I did. I SEE this person's beautiful eyes or outfit or kind heart or creativity, etc... But I don't often SAY anything about those cool things to the person with the beautiful eyes or heart.
I often proclaim myself as "filter-less," and many times this gets me in trouble. I blurt out truths the way I see them then realize that I have inadvertantly crushed another's spirit or made a joke that was funny to some and hurtful to others. Mostly, this filter-less personality suits me well, because I'd rather be honest than fake, but this "good-seeing" thing has my filter going wacky.
This seeing without saying became quite clear while I was traveling this week. For example, the flight attendant on my plane the other day was really beautiful and had an endearing smile. I noticed this the first time I walked by her on the plane, and I thought to myself, wow, she has such a kind smile. And then I realized that I could just tell her that. That there is no reason for me to hog this wonderful feeling. I should share with her that just her smile made me feel happy and warm and cared for. So I did.
It was a little uncomfortable. She blushed. But she was even more smiley and kind to the next people in line, and I think it's better to take down my filter when I see cool things in people. Don't I hope they see them in me? Doesn't it feel great when random people tell me cool things they see in me as opposed to thinking them and not saying them because it might be awkward? Sure, sometimes it IS awkward, but better an awkward compliment that just might turn a person's day around, just might spread joy to many others than to be afraid of being awkward. What are they going to do? Punch you in the face for telling them you like their shoes? Come on.
So, I tried to notice and comment even more as I was traveling, and I realized that from the moment I arrive at the airport, I am constantly in a debt of gratitude when I am "on the road." Think about it. In order for me to successfully get from DIA to my hotel in San Antonio, Texas for work, the travel agent must book my flight and hotel room. The ticket agent must give me my plane ticket. Someone else must lift and transport my 50 lb. suitcase. The pilot must safely take off, fly, and land the plane, and in order for him to do that, he needs to be in contact with the people in the control tower, who need to communicate and direct all of the planes coming in and out of DIA/ San Antonio. Then, someone needs to get my bags from the plane to the luggage merry-go-round. Then the car rental shuttle bus driver runs to get my 50 lb. bag for me, calls me "love," and refuses my tip. Then another man laughs at my jokes and puts my bags in the car that someone else made sure was cleaned, fueled up, and running smoothly before I ever even stepped into the parking lot. Still another team of people created googlemaps for my iphone so that I could get from the car rental place to my hotel without missing a turn. (And, of course, all of those people it took to create my iphone...)
You get the idea, right? Because that's JUST to get from DIA to my hotel in San Antonio, and it takes hundreds more to have gathered the information that I studied to present to my participants...
The more I thought about this, the more grateful I became. And the more fun I had with the people helping me out.
I made a joke with the gentleman who checked my bag at the gateway, and five other people laughed. I teased the pilot at the coffee stand at the airport; we laughed. I smiled my biggest smile and thanked my biggest thank you to the cranky coffee stand barista. Well, she didn't care, but at least I tried.
And I left realizing that while travelers are "weary," they are grateful for a smile and a laugh. I know I am when I am dead on my feet, which are usually cramped into cute red pumps and aching, at the end of an exhausting 3 day workshop.
Now that I know that I SEE the good, I'm making an effort to SAY the good. The more I SAY the good, the more I SEE the good, and the more grateful I am for it.
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