Thursday, August 25, 2011

Thank You


One of the most dreaded times of my childhood started a week after Christmas every single year. For the most part, the novelty of all my new goodies had worn off and that meant I had plenty of time available for a task I loathed: writing thank you cards.

It was never a long to-write list, but aunts, uncles, grandparents and family friends needed to receive something to show that I appreciated their generosity. The problem was not that I wasn’t grateful; I just never knew what to say. I would sit there with a thank you card that seemed the size of a billboard and all I had written after 15 minutes was “Dear Uncle Jim…”

That’s it. Sad, I know. At least I got his name right instead of having to scribble out “Uncte Tim” which probably wouldn’t go over well.

I always felt inadequate to say thanks to the extent that I appreciated them, but I particularly lived in fear that if I didn’t show enough gratitude then I wouldn’t get another present in 358 days. If I didn’t say thanks, they might even think that I didn’t really love them.

Now, I love writing thank you cards. I think they’re possibly the most underrated tool in my job. While I still struggle with what to say, I’ve discovered that the small effort of capturing in words why I’m thankful for someone or their contribution means much to the recipient.

It shows them that I noticed their presence, that their work was seen. It’s less about how eloquently I can praise them and more about the fact that I recognized their thoughtfulness, sacrifice or devotion.

So go to Target and spend $10 for a box of 50 thank you cards; then start looking for reasons to send them to people.

Friday, August 19, 2011

Cafe Truth


A friend of mine has been traveling through parts of the Midwest and told me about a small place she saw. It’s called Good Day Café and Bad Day Bar. We both chuckled about it but as that name rattled around in my head I decided that it was actually an interesting commentary on our nature.

When things are bad, we tend to want to drown our sorrows. That doesn’t just mean drinking; sometimes we drown them in ice cream or TV or food or the instant Netflix subscription. Regardless of the anesthetic, we tend to enact solitude and avoid our issues.

On the other hand, when things are good, we can’t wait to share them. I’ve found that the best sharing happens over a meal.

Recently, I had a few people over for dinner. I’ve discovered that when I have company over we invariable end up talking in the kitchen and attached dining room rather than sitting in the living room. There is an unavoidable attraction to the room with the table. This past dinner, I even put appetizers out in the living room to no avail; we were drawn to the dining room. There is something profound about a table and the act of sharing it with someone else that is linked to a deep part of us. So, the Good Day Café connects two important things: sharing of joy and the sharing of food.

The Midwest just might be on to something.