On the way into the Rotary meeting, I met up with the Past President. She asked how I was. I said fine and asked her in return. I thought she looked tired. She said, “you know, I almost didn’t come tonight. I’ve been to so many meetings today. This felt like just one more meeting.”
Then she brightened. “But this one is different. I can just enjoy the people.” And she seemed to, especially the high school Interact members who spoke to our club.
The next morning, I awoke at the usual hour after an unsatisfying night’s sleep. No reason for the fretfulness. No special worries. No vivid or disturbing dreams. Sleep just didn’t meet my expectations. I laid in bed thinking about all the things I should be doing. That, of course, added to my inclination to stay put.
I watched the sun rise over the Koolau Mountains, streaming into the room. Soon, it was hot lying in bed. So I got up, without any drive. Some days are like that; bathed in blah.
Soon enough I found my rhythm and prepared to work at my desk. Awaiting me was an e-mail response to my piece about balance some time back. A high school classmate told me about how he and his wife had taken a young Hispanic girl under their wings. Their son knew about this girl. So did they, because she was proving herself to be a talented athlete whose talent might be the ticket for higher education.
Her family circumstances were tough—little income, large number of children, no history of college attendance. My classmate and his son facilitated community college team scouting trips to watch the girl play. Prospects are promising.
Without doubt, her life had the potential to turn out differently because of the efforts of my classmate and his family. He described his efforts for her as providing balance in his life. For me, that was a chicken skin moment. The day was getting better.
That evening, Judy and I had dinner with another high school classmate. She and her husband were on their way to New Zealand for vacation. We swapped stories about what we had all been doing for the last 50 years or so. Forced to work during her senior year, she couldn’t attend classes with us but the school permitted her to participate in graduation with the rest of her classmates.
She described various jobs she held until she was asked to substitute for a friend of hers in a school with classes for special needs children. She said that brief experience gave her ideas about how kids with such needs could be helped in ways not then being used. Having vowed never to become a teacher, she went back to school to get the needed credentials to begin a career of work with kids with the whole range of needs, youngsters others often felt to be difficult to work with.
Her successes provided children and families with educational experiences that they had no reason to expect they would enjoy. She even became the initiator of a particular form of competition in Special Olympics, taking the time to teach herself about athletic competition, unknown to her before.
Our friend was, in short, a transformational figure in scores of lives because she took an interest, saw possibilities that others did not, made an effort.
What are the chances that, on the same day, I would hear about the extraordinary things two of my high school classmates had accomplished? That turned blah into wow!
There might be some among you People of a Certain Age who have never experienced blah, whose aumakua (in Hawaiian culture, something like a totem or family spirit, like a shark or turtle) is the Energizer Bunny. You might not be able to relate to my Rotarian friend or me.
I bet, though, that all of you know stories about extraordinary things done for others by ordinary people. And, if you are like me, just such stories—or some effort on my part to help someone else—are the surest way out of blah.
I was reminded of something attributed to Woody Allen: “90% of life is just showing up.” I found out that James Kok has published a book with a variation—“90% of Helping is Just Showing Up.” I’ve not read the book. But I accept the premise of its title. So many times, by virtue of just being there for someone, care and empathy are clear.
I also know that 90% is not 100%. The final 10% is usually crucial.
The young girl has needed the additional 10% from my classmate. My special education stalwart did more than just show up. Yet you cannot do the 10% that makes the difference if you have not shown up.
After she told me what she almost did not do, my Rotarian friend asked me if I ever felt that way. The very next morning, I did. I see those low moments as a price of life. I cannot be “up” all the time.
I can will myself to show up, though. Who knows what can happen then?
Daniel E. White
March 6, 2017