I have been thinking a lot about days. About these self-contained units of time we wake up to each morning and make something of. Each one is filled with little acts of kindness and unkindness. By ourselves, by our family members, by our co-workers, by our friends, and by strangers.
These little acts we amplify into something more, let them ruin or make our day.
I was telling my friend today, while we walked along the Missouri river that it seems like so many people just want to focus on the acts of unkindness. We want to bitch about the driver who cut us off, moan about the wait at a restaurant or the storm warning that interrupted The Bachelorette. We focus on the negative, because its what other people do too. It's our culture. Let's write bad reviews about restaurants, tweet out every frustration. We live in anger, band together in shared hatred.
But what if instead we focused on the acts of kindness? What if we amplified those into something bigger? The old man that holds the door at the library, the chirpy barista who likes your nail color, the six green lights in a row that you hit when you were in a hurry. Then we would let joy wash over us instead of pissed-offed-ness.
We talked about this while we walked. A nice breeze hit us and cooled our sweaty bodies. Why couldn't we focus on the breeze instead of the beating sun? We went to a restaurant in the Old Market for sandwiches. I pulled into a parking spot where someone had overpaid the meter and given us an hour free. At the restaurant, my friend just wanted toast and peanut butter, berries and whipped cream. "When people ask me for special orders at work, I say 'yes,'" I encouraged her. "I mean, why the fuck not? Get what you want."
She asked our waitress. "I don't mean to be a pain," she began. Then she asked for it. The waitress just asked what kind of bread, then brought out exactly what my friend had asked for. "Sorry I'm so sweaty," I apologized, self-conscious. "Don't apologize for a bodily function," she replied. "I mean, it's not like you're spurting blood all over the table. That would be concerning. A real health hazard." We laughed, hearty, full laughs, imagining me spurting blood all over the table, the commotion it would cause. In comparison, a couple pit stains were nothing. We could laugh or apologize. We chose laughter.
When we returned to my car, I said, "look, the meter expired and we didn't get a ticket! We're living a good life right now." She didn't criticize me when she sat in my passenger seat which was covered in shredded cheese. We laughed about how I slammed on my brakes on the way to work while eating a taco the other day. Today I chose happiness over pissed-offed-ness; I chose to amplify the good. I'm going to do it again tomorrow. And the next day.