The Lesson of the Day is Kindness

It is my belief that we all too often assume that things will stay this way forever, just as we assume that who we are is limited to some little voice in our brains. And yet, the only constant of life is change. Those players in our game who pass through our little window of vision today may not be back tomorrow. If we believe that we are simply watching behind that window, then we are forever keeping the soul caged by our ignorance.

If we treated everyone we met today as though we would not see them tomorrow, we could pull all of our relationships into the present moment. This way, we would not be living with the grudges of what happened in this relationship months ago, but actually see the person standing before us now. And taking this one step further, we might seize the moment by making the effort to give them love, show them kindness and voice how much they mean to us.

During one of my shifts at the café this week, around lunch time, a little man came in who appeared to be in his seventies or eighties. “I’m here for lunch.” he announced. “Where are your sandwiches?”

My heart sank at that, for we had been out of bread for days and our sandwich case was empty. He kept talking. “Well, you can make them up fresh, right? I will have a ham and cheese.”

“We are out of sandwiches.” I told him. “But I am happy to recommend a good place just across the street called Plankers.”

“Planters?” I realized he could not hear me clearly and switched to my Big Girl Voice.

“There is a sandwich shop across the street called Plankers. They have great sandwiches. You should try there.” I said loudly.

“Where?”

“Go across the street, turn right and down about five businesses.”

With a heavy sigh, he put on his gloves and jacket and left as the next customer stepped up to order coffee.

About ten minutes later, my same little old gentleman was back, with a concerned look on his face.

“There is no such place!" He said, exasperated. "I went down that street and I didn’t see any Planeers Sandwiches.” Reading his eyes, I saw hunger and frustration. I looked around. The café was full, but the lunch rush was over and our influx was lessening. There was time.

“I will be right back.” I told my coworker. Then I stepped out around the counter, playfully extended my elbow and said loudly so he could hear me, “Let’s go to lunch, bud.” The old man grinned and took my arm. We crossed the street, turned right and went down five doors to Plankers Sandwich Shop.

“I can’t actually stay and have lunch with you because I am technically still working, but I wanted to be sure you were fed.” I explained. People in the shop looked up because I was talking so loudly. “They do an amazing BLT here! Have a great lunch and you know I expect a full report later.” I gave him a hug and briskly walked back to the café.

Working in the coffee shop, I try to treat every interaction as the one of the day. How can I make this person smile? How can I show them that I care? Can I anticipate their needs and make their day better? How can I be present to the people I love in my life and let them know?

If I stretch that motto bigger, how can I treat this life as the one and only? I choose to live bigger than the ‘9 to 5, have dinner, go to bed, do it all over again tomorrow’ pattern. I work towards leaving the country so I may stretch my mind with new cultures, new ideas, new languages, new territories with foreign ecosystems. To go play with the eagles under a parachute, to swim after giant eagle rays out into the expanse of the sea, to keep climbing back on that surfboard when I have sand in every orifice but I know this next wave will be mine. Newness in my life is not a new pair of 300 dollar boots. Newness to me is boarding the night train and waking up in a different country.

One of my new favorite visuals is the photo of the guru Swami Satchitananda balancing on a surfboard, riding a blue Hawaiian wave with his long beard waving and his orange robes flowing out behind him. Below the photo is the caption: “You can’t stop the waves but you can learn how to surf.”

Change is coming, change is already here. I cannot stop it, but I can wake up and learn how to play in the moment I have. I want to be awake when I walk back through the park to my car after work. I want to be present to the trees in their Fall orange robes, to notice the frost patterns on crunchy leaves underneath my feet, to be open to loving more fully, to learning all I can, not thinking of budgeting, bills, schedules or taking the car in for a tune-up. Opportunities pass and I shall not choose to wait until I am retired to go play around the globe. I am living my dreams now to keep them alive, not taking the chance that they might drown in the sea of mundane day to day tasks while I wait for the right time. To be present is to assume responsibility for being here and now in this beautiful world in this incredible moment and make every act count. You can only do that if you are awake, if you are paying attention.

I don’t want to be one of the robots that goes through the same motions day to day, doing just enough to get by, saying just what I have to say to move through to the next customer. Where is the depth in that? Where is the learning? This life is a classroom where most of the students don’t even attempt the assignments, nor write the papers or read the lesson textbooks or look inside and paint the pictures of what they see. Because most of those students don’t see the opportunity to learn in their given situation. And they surely don’t get that they are also the teacher setting the syllabus.

The little man I had helped returned to the café with a full stomach and a smile. He came back just to tell me how tasty his BLT sandwich had been, and when he asked if I had eaten yet, he offered me his other half.

The lesson of the day is Kindness.

The Closed Fist

This week of being alive, I have been reminded to never assume. When coffee shop customers are demanding and short with me or are repeatedly negative, I usually assume they are being this way out of spite, and my mind places them on the “mean” list. And yet, it takes some people, especially those that are older and very attached to their routine, longer to warm up to people. Honestly, it took one couple four months before they would talk to me. They came in for coffee every day but would order, pay and walk away, not even answering “How are you today?“ or “How was your weekend.“ Just because they are closed doesn’t mean they are grumpy. Flowers are always more fun to interact with, but tightly clasped buds hold the potential to be beautiful as well.

One woman in particular, Sandy, seemed to be very demanding, always reminding me of the specifications of how she liked her latte, getting upset with me if I did not remember her last name (as if I do not deal with hundreds of customers’ first and last names on a daily basis). It seemed to me that she was looking for what was wrong in the situation. Sandy is the one to point out that the expiration date has passed on her milk, to point out the coffee rings on the dirty counter, and bring to my attention that there was entirely too much flavor in her latte. She would double check that it was sugar free, did hear her say she wanted sugar free? And by the way, there is an ugly bug crawling across your counter!

Two days ago, there was not a line in the coffee shop when Sandy came in, and there was more time to interact. By now, I do know how to spell her last name, (that’s e-w, not e-u) and I can make her drink with just the right amount of sugar free vanilla with a milk that has months to go before expiring. But I was on the register, ringing in her order and someone else had the task of making her drink. And we started talking. She actually asked me a personal question about myself. I have nothing to hide and answered honestly, which must have opened a door for suddenly we were in a deep conversation about change. She was telling me about how her son does not like change. How he dug his heels in and resisted when he was 8 years old and they were moving into a new house. I mentioned that it interested me how personality attributes like that cross over into children’s adult lives as they grow older and asked if he got better with change or if that manifested into the life he lives now. And she said, “You mean, you don’t know?”

“Know what?” I asked.

“My son was killed in Iraq.” At those words, there was a buzz in my ears that became deafening and I felt pushed back, pushed down, and in that moment, my eyes cleared and I realized why Sandy is the way she is. Her behavior towards me and others suddenly made perfect sense. Yes, I had heard of the death of the young marine with that same last name, spelled e-w not e-u. He is something of a small town hero here. But I had no clue he was her son. I was overwhelmed by compassion for this woman, and I realized, she, too, is human. We are all human, dealing with the complexities and death and birth and change that life sends our way. Difficulty, loss, struggle, these are all situations that cause us to naturally stress, tighten up, retreat within and become short with others.

The next day, when Sandy came in, she was different. Or perhaps the change was within me. I was different.

She opened with asking my coworker and I, “How are my two favorite coffee creators today?”

Strikingly different from any of our previous interactions, Sandy and I had a fun little banter and more sincere conversation, meanwhile, in the back of my mind I puzzled how I could have been her favorite all along when I had perceived her as negative and controlling. She is not mean after all, but a woman who has been through an incredible amount of loss. I am sorry to have judged her and have made my own assumptions.

The fantastic thing is that I will see her tomorrow, and the next day and the week and month after that, and every new day is a new chance to connect. As Rumi said, “ Out beyond ideas of right doing and wrong doing (judgment) there is a field. I will meet you there.”

These opportunities to change my perception are everywhere. When someone cuts in front of me in traffic, I won’t assume they are a terrible driver but in an emergency rush to get to the E.R. Or when the man on the plane next to me crosses his arms and looks down his nose at me in silence when I ask him how he is doing, I might acknowledge that it must be tough being paralyzed by fear of flying. And I will have patience with that quiet early morning couple. Knowing that one day, maybe months from now, hundreds of mochas from now, they might tell me all about their weekend and ask how mine was in return, at last ready and in the right space to open up and bloom.

The closed fist cannot shake hands, cannot receive. The closed mind cannot perceive another‘s humanness. The closed heart cannot receive love.