[2021-11-19] Making someone's day
I subscribe to a weekly newsletter called The Gratitude Journal. In this week's newsletter, which arrived in my inbox today, author Chester Elton provided guidance on How to Make Someone’s Day.
It was timely, as today I tried to do just that. My goal was to bring a little cheer to a friend who had undergone major surgery yesterday and a little comfort to her family. My husband and I dropped off food and a card.
In truth, I had much greater ambitions: a nicer card, more food, a bouquet of flowers. I wanted my gift to reflect the extent of my affection for my friend. I also wanted it to match the many generous gifts that she and her family had bestowed upon me and my family during my cancer treatment.
But, in the end, I did what I had the energy to do today. It was the first day since my surgery that I left the house. (I'm mystified that my recovery is proceeding as slowly as it is.)
When I asked my husband this morning about adding more baked goods to our gift, he sagely noted that we can do more another day—spread the love, so to speak. And my daughter wisely reminded me that our disappointment in ourselves and our humble offerings is often derived from our expectations and not those of the recipient of our generosity.
Indeed, Elton notes in his newsletter that we can make someone’s day through the smallest of gestures. He quotes Howard H. Prager, author of the new book Make Someone’s Day: Becoming a Memorable Leader in Work and Life, who wrote: "A smile may be all someone needs to get them out of being stuck or in a funk." Elton adds that "these actions can be small or large, in person or online, planned or spontaneous."
What's most important is the meaning the recipient derives from the gift. When we give someone a gift they need, when they need it, in a way they need it, we succeed.
During my cancer treatment, many people offered food to our family when we needed it most—whether they made it, purchased it, or provided a credit to a dinner delivery service. For example, one friend made lasagna and chocolate chip cookies for my family the day of my hysterectomy; my husband picked it up after dropping me off at the hospital, making for one less thing he and my children had to worry about on that occasion. Many others did what I called "a ring and run"—dropping off food and disappearing with no contact at all or only the briefest of conversations, as we were in the height of COVID and I was immunocompromised. Because food is my love language, I remember, and am still touched by, every food offering that appeared at my door over the past 16 months.
I often allow my expectations to get the best of me. I wish that my help could be more helpful, that my gifts could be more elaborate, that my blog posts could be more brilliant. However, with few exceptions, what I do manage to do is more than enough and appreciated by the recipient. In the case of my blog, I have learned that even the posts that I think are merely OK resonate with someone on a deep level—arriving at precisely the moment they need them. Just as I appreciated every act of kindness given to me, those to whom I extend a kindness today are no doubt just as grateful for my modest gifts.
When we think we haven't given enough, we need to recognize that our expectations and not those of our intended recipients are often the source of our self-doubt. What we give with love is always enough.
