A smile is a special thing. No one is so poor that they can’t spare one and no one is so rich that they can get along without one. Alright, I’ve always loved this saying. At times I started to think that it sounded a bit like a sacharine cliché – but this impression always lasted only until someone smiled at me when I needed it. Smiling at a stranger is step one, and it can do a whole world of good. Yesterday I found out about step two – acknowledging people. Or rather – I crashed into it head-on and discovered that it could do, well, whole solar systems of good.
The day before I had returned from a friend’s wedding. It had been a wonderful event. I met some great people I hadn’t known before and others whom I hadn’t seen for a decade. And what was best – the newlyweds were absolutely beaming. It always recharges my batteries when I see happy people, and seeing a close friend radiate joy and fulfillment shifted my power indicators up to the max. I couldn’t be more content and relaxed. Or at least I thought so.
So yesterday I entered this tea house to spend a while with a book. The tea lady looked up, smiled and said, “Oh, I haven’t seen you for ages!” Suddenly, without a warning, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of perplazement. Yes, I’m a regular there, probably all the staff knows me already and yes, her shifts and my visits hadn’t matched for a while. She simply said it out loud. It wasn’t an “I’ve been missing you!”, neither it was an “I’m so glad to see you!” (even though I like to think a shade of that was there) – it was a mere acknowledgment, “I’ve noticed about your existence and it’s been a while since you’ve been here last.” The surprising thing was that it was more than enough, just when I thought that I couldn’t feel any better. It felt incredibly warm.
I thought my day had just been made but the icing on the cake was yet to come. After she had taken my order, I settled on the second floor of the tea house and got immersed in the book. After a while, her colleague arrived with my tea, and as he was putting it down onto the table, he said, “Do I remember right that you’re a fan of the Bai Mu Dan tea?”
“Yep,” I said, incapable of anything more, as I’d just been smitten by all the recognition I had received.
“Well, then I think you’ll like this one, too. Good choice of you.”
Hopefully, I thanked him, even though I don’t remember doing it. He was the second person within some ten minutes who had remembered something about me, and once again it had caught me off-guard.
The biggest surprise out of it all probably is how little is enough. The usual Hello’s and Good bye’s are mere equivalents of cars’ headlights passing each other on the road. The Bai Mu Dan and the Haven’t-seen-you-for-ages, in spite of going only a steplet further, equalled to shaking hands; they were personal.
Next time when you meet someone you hardly know, maybe try to ask them how is their dog or how are the flowers you see them watering every morning. You may light up their whole day, as those two in the tea house lit mine just when I thought I couldn’t be doing any better. I’ll try to pay it forward.
