I had the ultimate pleasure of visiting Charleston, South Carolina and Asheville, North Carolina during my spring break. While I could go on and on about the sights and the food (oh, man -- the food!), I'd rather talk about the people. I met some amazing folks who, although I will never know their names or see them again, made me think about life in a different way.
There was the woman who did more than just confirm that we were on the right street -- she took the time to give us complete directions to where we wanted to go. She didn't need to do that; when asked a simple "is this so-and-so street?" she could have nodded or barked out a quick "yes" before heading on with her day and her life.
Four different shopkeepers took several minutes to answer our questions and advise us on places to go and things to do. Their tips would prove invaluable, and the time they spent probably cost them more than what we paid for the coffee we drank or the time we spent browsing their shelves.
The banjo player in the local bar welcomed us warmly and turned us onto some unique entertainment -- the jam session that has lasted for sixteen years. There was an unspoken feeling of tradition and camaraderie in that place, and had I brought along a comb and some wax paper I'm sure I would have been treated as one of the gang.
The local businessmen we met by chance showed us all that Asheville's nightlife had to offer and gave us a truly memorable and enjoyable evening. They thought nothing of treating us like old friends and showed us the real Asheville, not just the city in the guidebook.
The table and bar mates in two different restaurants were gracious enough to share in conversation with me, and we discovered connections and coincidences that would have remained uncovered had we not stepped out of our personal bubbles.
I was struck most, though, by the simple everyday encounters with people who held the door open or allowed me to hold the door for them, or the waiters and waitresses who appreciated our gratitude. There was the shopkeeper who dropped a small piece from her display and was genuinely surprised and appreciative when I picked it up for her, and the guy who introduced us to his dog, Pig. None of these situations were particularly significant or out of the ordinary, yet I find myself reflecting on them tonight as I dream of the beach while listening to the sounds of a spring snowstorm against my window.
I credit my parents with instilling me with good grace and manners; thanks to them I've never given a second thought to holding open doors or saying "please" and "thank you." While I learned quickly in my personal and professional life that good manners are sometimes the exception instead of the rule, it never occurred to me to change my ways. For some reason, the people on this trip were extra-appreciative and responsive to things I take for granted and responded in kind -- a "thank you," a smile, the wish that I have a lovely day. These interactions are what I'll remember most from my trip; they serve as a lovely reminder of what a positive word or deed can do. A small act can make a big difference.
There was the woman who did more than just confirm that we were on the right street -- she took the time to give us complete directions to where we wanted to go. She didn't need to do that; when asked a simple "is this so-and-so street?" she could have nodded or barked out a quick "yes" before heading on with her day and her life.
Four different shopkeepers took several minutes to answer our questions and advise us on places to go and things to do. Their tips would prove invaluable, and the time they spent probably cost them more than what we paid for the coffee we drank or the time we spent browsing their shelves.
The banjo player in the local bar welcomed us warmly and turned us onto some unique entertainment -- the jam session that has lasted for sixteen years. There was an unspoken feeling of tradition and camaraderie in that place, and had I brought along a comb and some wax paper I'm sure I would have been treated as one of the gang.
The local businessmen we met by chance showed us all that Asheville's nightlife had to offer and gave us a truly memorable and enjoyable evening. They thought nothing of treating us like old friends and showed us the real Asheville, not just the city in the guidebook.
The table and bar mates in two different restaurants were gracious enough to share in conversation with me, and we discovered connections and coincidences that would have remained uncovered had we not stepped out of our personal bubbles.
I was struck most, though, by the simple everyday encounters with people who held the door open or allowed me to hold the door for them, or the waiters and waitresses who appreciated our gratitude. There was the shopkeeper who dropped a small piece from her display and was genuinely surprised and appreciative when I picked it up for her, and the guy who introduced us to his dog, Pig. None of these situations were particularly significant or out of the ordinary, yet I find myself reflecting on them tonight as I dream of the beach while listening to the sounds of a spring snowstorm against my window.
I credit my parents with instilling me with good grace and manners; thanks to them I've never given a second thought to holding open doors or saying "please" and "thank you." While I learned quickly in my personal and professional life that good manners are sometimes the exception instead of the rule, it never occurred to me to change my ways. For some reason, the people on this trip were extra-appreciative and responsive to things I take for granted and responded in kind -- a "thank you," a smile, the wish that I have a lovely day. These interactions are what I'll remember most from my trip; they serve as a lovely reminder of what a positive word or deed can do. A small act can make a big difference.
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