The Gab of the Gift

I resolved to write more in 2024. Not for the sake of having a New Year’s resolution, but because I’ve long had a sense of I-should-have-been-doing-this-already. And in the true post-pandemic fashion that sent my once-always on time, if not early, trait as far into the night air as Monday evening’s mis-hit at tennis, I’m already late to getting started. But better nine days late than never, hey?

I’m going to write 300 words a week, about the week. It could be about finding something particularly joyous in the usually mundane Tuesday morning. Maybe I’ll bump into a long lost love whilst in the middle at Lidl (though I think we can all agree it’s more likely to be the former). I might even win the lottery next week, and this whole idea could go out the window. Who knows? But what I know is this: I’ve given myself a (loose) 300 word target, which will keep me accountable. And 300 feels about right to share something but in a non-waffly way – my manager will thank me for that.

OK then, this week. Naturally, that’s half the word count gone already, so this’ll have to be short – and I’ll do my best to keep it sweet.

Let me introduce you to the old-ish man I walk past most days on my way to work. By ‘old-ish’, I mean somewhere in his seventies (I think?), and we usually cross paths (literally) somewhere about 3 minutes away from my office.

For much of the winter, I’ve been looking up and giving him a small, bleary-morning smile. I’ve also tried to pull off the nod where you don’t say ‘hi’ literally, but you are saying ‘hi’. And on some particularly cheery days, I’ve said ‘morning!’ or ‘hello!’. Sometimes, he’s smiled back. Sometimes, he’ll return the nod. And on some of his cheery days, he’s replied with ‘good morning’.

I don’t know what it is about this stranger – maybe it’s the shared experience of the pre-8:30 morning walk, or because seeing him has subconsciously become part of my body clock (I can tell how early or late I am to work depending on which part of the street we cross at). Perhaps it’s because I’m more used to the older generation going out of their way to say ‘hello’ when they walk past me, or that I can picture my Grandpa saying the same.

Whatever the reason, the only word I can use to describe what I felt last Thursday as this particular gent not only looked up at me and did a half-smile, but said ‘good morning’ first, is pride. It was a damp and dreary January day but as he said it, it felt like the sun was pushing itself through. I mean, I don’t know this guy from Adam – is he a widower? Is he walking to the local shop every morning to get a paper? Is he going home to eat his breakfast from the same place at the same table as the last 50 years? Again, who knows. But what I do know is that it doesn’t matter. 

Because in an age where we’re more used to interacting with a device called Alexa over a person named the same, there’s something to be said for these small, fleeting moments of genuine humanity. Like when the person you’ve moved your bag off the bus seat for takes out an AirPod to say ‘cheers’. Or when you look up and say ‘thanks’ to the person supervising the self-checkout, though you’ve successfully managed to not need them to tippity-tap-tap on the screen so the unexpected item in the bagging area can stay there. (The irony of needing staff at any self-service, eh.) When did it become the norm to think someone’s weird for saying a polite ‘hello’ in public, rather than be the person saying it?

Writing 300 words a week might not be my resolution. But making an effort to look up, smile, and say ‘hi’, ‘hola’, or even ‘cheerio!’ if I’m feeling really sprightly whilst out and about might just be.

(Note to self, that was 702 words. But if I got it bang on first time, that’d be showing off… right?)