It’s the little things that make the world
Yesterday evening, sitting outside a coffee shop with two lovely Estonians, sipping coffee (and eating the most fattening and deliriously delicious chocolate cake I’m willing to sell my soul for) on Pall Mall, two men walked up to us. They had a friendly aura, so we weren’t immediately alarmed.
“Hello, we are in a speech recovery course and we have to say our names to 100 people, can we do that?” said the older man. Of course we didn’t mind. The older man was Ian, and I am not even going to attempt trying to spell, because it was a Greek name (started with T). They had obviously difficulties with speaking fluently (stuttering, if I’m not wrong now), but it was so heart-warming how they were truly trying, and it was clear that it required a great deal of effort from them. We ended up having a nice little chat. The Greek man was very helpful with calling the information line for getting one address, because it was a good practice for him. Ian is a journalist and has a Saturday column in The Times, he writes book reviews.
I truly admired their dedication. We helped them half way through with their mission. It was a short encounter, but left me very touched by the warmth and sincerity those men gleamed. I wish all the people were so genuinely nice by default. Sometimes I wonder if the people who have a physical “defect” or have lived through a lot are the only ones capable of radiating such non-verbal niceness. Does pain generate it? It is a bold over-generalisation, but by talking to any other stranger for the same amount of time seldom leaves me with such lovely vibes.
The little things truly do make the world, but only if they’re noticed and appreciated.