I see you. When was the last time that you took a moment to recognize another person’s hard work? Another person’s perseverance? Kindness? Generosity? Talents? Honesty? Thoughtfulness? Sweetness? Creativity? Spontaneity? When was the last time that you paused to say, “You’re awesome!” or “I like what you said at the meeting this morning.” Such a simple gesture. Still it means so much.
Can you remember how good it felt the last time someone took the time to recognize you? Your talents, your effort, your creativity . . . your you-ness. Maybe it is good to be reminded of how good it felt so we feel more inclined to share those good feelings with others. Pay it forward with simple gestures of recognition.
Take a look around today and see if there is something that unsung hero is doing . . . something that might seem so small or insignificant to that person but that has the potential to make such a difference all around. Maybe you see someone picking up a piece of garbage in the lunchroom or you see someone offering up their seat on the bus. A parent tying his child’s shoe or someone holding the door open for a stranger. I don’t know. There are so many ways to make the world a brighter place.
It doesn’t take much. A smile. A high five. A Way to go! A You’ve got this! An I see you. So simple, right? I want to put an I see you into my daily life. An appreciation for someone else’s thoughtfulness. I see the ripples that these small acts spread across the water. Each act promises great significance.
And the fun part? We all benefit. Recognition. Gratefulness. Appreciation. All of these words take on immense proportions in relation to their original state. I see you.
PROMPT: Do you believe that practice makes perfect?
This quote generates all sorts of considering and sorting and restructuring, leading me to ponder my perceptions of Practice, Progress, and Perfect.
Practice. Progress. Perfect. What constitutes enough Practice? How do I effectively measure Progress? How do I define Perfect? How many words on the page are enough for the day such that I feel that I made progress on my novella? Should I edit as I write or leave that for another time? When will I know that the book is perfect and ready for publishing? Where within the art of writing are my feelings of reward and self-actualization? When is enough enough? When is very little a new measure of bliss?
I play music with someone who once gently corrected me when I said that I felt like I didn’t have enough time to practice during the week. Jerry’s response: “Try not to think of it as practice but think of it as playing. Play music. Don’t practice it.” I will always remember his wise and profound words, as they turned me around into a new way of thinking and feeling and being. My music changed after he said that to me. Like a recalcitrant mule that doesn’t want to head north up the trail, you sometimes have to walk it in a circle once, or even twice, to reconfigure its level of cooperation. I can’t count the times I have seen this work — the mule will move up the mountain with an open attitude. Jerry spun my perceptions of Practice into a celebration of Play. He opened my attitude.
We don’t stop to evaluate Play when we are in the midst of celebrating fun. We don’t measure Play’s progress or outcome levels. And I cannot ever recall trying to decide if I was Perfect enough at Play. What would happen if I chose to see my writing as Play? Would I continue to consider it a discipline or schedule it as a priority? I think not. By allowing myself to enter into the Practice of Perfect Play, the moment is mine.