I’m still thinking about you.
I realize that you are probably not still thinking about me. Not in any conscious way, of course. I suppose it’s possible that the stinging memory of my ostensible rudeness boils up every time you have to steer a course around an overly laden-down MacLaren that’s bucking and straining to get up onto the sidewalk curb, or when you have to wait for the lady in front of you to finish doling out the snack she just bought for her whining children before you can get close enough to the cash register to pay for your Smartwater. New York City is full of rude people, many of them parents with young children, and perhaps to you, I’m just one more.
Before I go on to describe the ways you’ve changed my life since our interaction, I want to point out that I watched you hurtling down the sidewalk toward the Starbucks through the glass doors. You were clearly in a rush. I also saw your face the moment you yanked open the door and at once perceived the painful truth—there was no way for you to get in until I got out. So you held the door open. Because you had to.
I don’t want to take away from your act of generosity. I truly don’t intend to be snarky. In fact, it’s that moment—the moment our disparate realities and desires collided (me: stroller out, you: door in) that I’ve been meditating on the most since that day.
The thing is, I should have said thank you sooner. I was focused on other stuff: aiming the stroller wheels (which are about 3/8 of an inch narrower than the door) with keen precision through the doorframe so I didn’t have to perform the always-embarrassing bump-and-back-up move. I was focused on deciding whether or not my one-year-old could choke on the straw I’d given him to chew on while I was waiting for my overpriced iced tea; on the call I needed to make in a minute, and trying to remember if I’d put my phone in my back pocket or in my wallet or if it was maybe down in the diaper bag.
I was aware that you were holding open the door, that you were waiting, that it was time for me to acknowledge your good manners, so I did open my mouth, finally, to say, “Thank you.” Only, you didn’t know I was going to say it, and so you screamed “You’re welcome!!” in my face like I was an idiot without smack of social grace, and you marched self-righteously inside as I finished mumbling my thanks and pushed my stroller to the curb.
To be honest, my first thought was—If you need someone to say thank you that badly, then you probably need to get a life. But as I began reflecting more on what really happened in the doorway of that Starbucks, I began (as I am wont to do) to find some deeper meaning there.
The fact is, I was focused on “other stuff.” In other words: not present in the moment. This is a pretty normal state of affairs not just for moms, but also for most people in general. We do most of our living—tying our shoes, grabbing handfuls of toilet paper, locking and unlocking our front doors, eating our breakfasts, lunches, dinners, changing the channel on the TV—without fully being alive to whatever we’re doing at the moment.
For me what this means is that unless I work very hard to stay present, I get sucked into an unending roar of thoughts, feelings and compulsions that I constantly tend and feed, often at the unfortunate expense of whomever or whatever is directly before me. This matters, because when I’m caught up in the “roaring” in my head, I know I’m missing the vibrancy and connection that is here in the moment. And I spend way more time being unhappy and dissatisfied than I do when I’m able to stay with what’s here and now. (And I might inadvertently make others feel unimportant or unappreciated… Ugh.)
I wasn’t thinking about anything important as I shoved my stroller through the door. I was just doing far too much thinking when I should have been being. Period.
However, I’m not letting you, Ms. Huff, get off too easily, either. There’s a little lesson I’d like to offer you, which, for now, I’ve entitled: We’ve Got to Work Together to Make it Work. (Okay, so it’s a super-drafty, working title!) But, basically the lesson is this: This great big city of ours can be hard and lonely. We’ve all had moments while scurrying and scrambling around when we just needed… something extra. Extra time, extra patience, extra understanding, extra kindness… It can be easy to forget that most human beings are just a series of raw or festering wounds wrapped in the thinnest of skin. Your tiny fit reminded me that if we don’t care for one another, if we don’t take time to give a little extra when we can, we won’t be able to survive here. This city will surely swallow us up with cynicism, disappointment and despair.
So, to you, the girl who held the door then screamed at me—thank you. Thank you not just for holding the door, but thank you for screaming in my face. It helped to wake me up, and reminded me to try harder each day to be a person who looks out for those who need a little extra.
That Unique* Weblog said:
I’ve mumbled “You’re welcome” or screamed it in my head at people once or twice. Okay, maybe more. I’ve also often missed a chance to thank someone for a kindness in time. And soon after, I give myself a metaphorical spanking because it’s so true – we always see our own worlds so clearly (unless the darn kid kept me up all night), and we don’t know what brought someone else to that moment in which we meet. I try, really try, to remember that days are long for everyone, not just me.
This post is a great reminder of that. And the tone is quite consistently maternal. I’m sorry she yelled in your face, there’s no excuse for that. But I’m glad it helped you arrive at this train of thought. Thank you.
luckygurl said:
Yeah, I think we’ve all felt unappreciated. I definitely catch myself in the more than occasional eye rolls of the eye… I didn’t necessarily feel like I was living up to my best self in the moment. But she wasn’t winning any Citizen of the Month awards either! 😉
jesterqueen (@jesterqueen) said:
Nah. She was just an ass.
luckygurl said:
Haha. Yeah, that’s another way of looking at it. 😉
marimargene said:
Even in the big city? It takes a village. She should have been more human to you.
But maybe she just hadn’t had her coffee yet? 😉
luckygurl said:
Yeah, I didn’t even think of that angle!! Thanks for reading!
janeedna said:
Oh, friend. I thank Ms. Huff for being your muse. Without her, this beautiful little piece wouldn’t be. I’m reminded as ever of our Annie and how much she missed and worked to recreate in NYC the humanity and kindness and pace of small town life, and how much it hurt her whenever NYC slapped her with a big fat “You’re welcome!” I don’t miss all the work that NYC requires of us to stay present and compassionate while doing the most basic things — walking through a doorway, eg. But I do miss the remarkable, resilient, compassionate beautiful people it holds and somehow, inspite of everything, manages to nurture. You are sparkling jewels squeezed out of the pressurizing loopiness. LYMYMI
luckygurl said:
Pressurizing loopiness… Only one person could write that brilliant description of nyc! 😉 Ann was very much on my mind when I wrote this. I even had a little paragraph started looping her in, but I thought we might be getting long… I’ll put it back in when I send it to The New Yorker. 😉 Miss you!
TriGirl said:
Well, I think you have a very generous spirit to turn around an event like that. Clearly this woman has never had to push a stroller. Every time I “help” someone with their stroller I permanently destroy corners, door frames, and the wheels on the stroller itself.
outlawmama said:
OH this is very good. You are more charitable than I am. But I wonder if your thoughts were about not being present? Cause I think it was present thinking to wonder if your child was going to choke on a straw and those damn strollers….I have had them for three years and I cannot steer them to save my freaking life. It’s so embarassing. Maybe I should have sprung the 4,000 for a BOB stroller. Anyway, I love how you thought of this and connected it to loneliness and isolation in modern, city life. But, I just don’t agree you weren’t present if you accurately reported your thoughts. Being a mom of young kids means having to be a certain kind of vigilant and think through lots of decisions. Maybe thinking about the over-priced tea was a little “out of the moment.” Great writing and really engaging insights.
luckygurl said:
Oh Christie, you’re too kind. And too sharp! I definitely wrestled with this question as I wrote. There’s a kind of “double presence” I’m always trying to juggle when I’m out and about with my kid. It’s consuming to be constantly in charge of another being’s safety and comfort, while trying to manage my own, and interact fully in the world!! It’s one of the things about parenting that is harder than I thought it would be. Thanks for reading!
icescreammama said:
honestly she was an ass with her own issues, but you’re right, we all need to be mindful of other people and what’s going on and of course, always say thank you.
luckygurl said:
Isn’t it weird when people who pride themselves on being polite act incredibly rude in their “politeness”? Thanks for reading!
Louise Ducote said:
I’m with jesterqueen — what a little twit! When we do something kind we should do it for its own sake, not to be thanked.
luckygurl said:
Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But some people are big on getting “credit.” Thanks for reading!
Gina said:
You put a lot of thought into this which is exactly what I would have done because I take things like this to heart. She was having a bad day and would have taken it out on anyone. A simple smile for a harried mother (I was one once) would be all the thanks I would need, if any. We should be helping each other, not just in a busy and bustling NYC, but everywhere. I really enjoyed reading your thoughts.
luckygurl said:
You’re right, we should be helping each other! Thanks for reading. (I like the name of your blog… 🙂
Stephanie B. (@B4Steph) said:
What a heartfelt post. If she needed someone to say thank you that badly I feel sorry for her. Is that why we help people? Is there no such thing as an unconditional lending of a hand? I think you point out rightly that the chaos of the big city can make us cranky. Though that’s hardly an excuse for her taking out her issues on you. I agree with Christie that it seemed to me that you were present. You have a good heart, and hopefully hers will soften in time.
luckygurl said:
Yes! Cranky! It’s a constant battle to keep crankiness at bay… Thanks for reading, and for your kind comments.
Kenja said:
Let’s face it. We’ve all been Ms. Huff and we’ve all been Luckygurl. Each of us has the capacity for incredible thoughtfulness and incredible thoughtlessness. I am both about three times a day.
And you are so right when you say we need to take the time to care for one another and give just a little extra. I can’t tell you how many times it makes my day when someone out of the blue asks how I am and really wants to know.
Wonderful post!!!
luckygurl said:
Yes, we have capacity for so much good and destruction. That’s partly why I tried not to be TOO hard on her. (Though I kinda wanted to kick her in the shin at that moment…). 🙂 Thanks for your kind comment.
Stacie @ Snaps and Bits said:
This is a really well written post with quite a few nuggets in there! I think she was just rude but it’s amazing she triggered all of these deeper thoughts for you. I live in the Jersey burbs, just 20 miles from the city. I love going in but people definitely seem more hectic and frantic and less aware of others. I hope she thought about it too!
luckygurl said:
Thanks, Stacie! It was stinging me for a couple of days, until I realized I needed to write more about it, in order to try to get something positive out of the experience. Thanks for reading.
Kathleen (@Michigan_Left) said:
Ms. Huff sounds like a snotty pain in the booty to me. You are a very kind, compassionate person to be willing to consider the other side of the situation and find something positive in the experience.
I think I would have slammed the door in her face.
luckygurl said:
Haha. Yes, I did feel like yelling. It was just so weird, I had to write about it to process the experience. Thanks for reading.
iasoupmama said:
I don’t say “Thank you!” until I’m all the way out the door because I’m always convinced that the person holding the door is going to let it slam on me. I know that’s irrational, but oh well. I also don’t expect anyone to say thank you, that way I’m always pleasantly surprised when they do. Excellent post!
luckygurl said:
Thanks! Cynical, you are. But maybe practical as well (since I’ve had that happen a few times!)… Thanks so much for stopping by!
Angela Ryan said:
I really enjoyed reading this. I love your crazy long title too. I just enjoyed how you took this kind of minor moment and made it into something meaningful and important, and a lesson for every living human being. That’s great … and the mark of a true writer. Great writers also have to be extremely observant of human nature, and you definitely have that down. Bravo!
luckygurl said:
Thanks, Angela. I’m working on staying awake to the little “gifts” life is handing me. 😉
heidi said:
What Jester Queen and Stephanie said!
I’ve been in that situation. I had my kids with me as we entered the grocery store, focused on getting through the door and buying what we needed. I needed to be quick. I barely registered the man behind me with the cart who I guess ‘let’ me go in front of him. He, too, blurted out a “You’re welcome.” I was too embarrassed to acknowledge him and kept going like I hadn’t heard him.
I’m like you – I take things to heart. I’m big on thank yous and manners and all-around pleasantness. But, geez, the few times I wasn’t fast enough or didn’t do the right thing does not make me a bad person. And it does not warrant a mean, sarcastic response.
Most of us are just trying to do our best out there. You were doing your best looking after your kids, trying to get that freakin’ stroller through the door. 🙂 I’ve been there. Don’t be hard on yourself. She’s the one who screwed up. I mean, really. What a numptyhead. (my kind word for idiot)
luckygurl said:
Ugh. I’m sorry this happened to you, too. But I’m so happy to have a new word in my vocabulary–numptyhead. Awesome.
Michelle Longo said:
I’ve never screamed it. Muttered, mumbled, sarcastically sing-songed it, thought it and a zillion other quieter versions, but never screamed it. Doesn’t matter though, it’s still kind of rude. And I’ve had it said to me too, for the same reasons it was said to you. But I didn’t take it with the grace you did. Loved this post. Loved the position you took and the way you wrote it.
luckygurl said:
Thanks so much!!
Ashley Austrew said:
I love this. It’s crazy how much we can glean from these small interactions.
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