I know I’ve not splattered my thoughts across the page before, not here anyway, but tonight I just felt like it.Sometimes when I’m walking, alone with my thoughts I get such an all-pervasive feeling of nostalgia, its simply weird. There’s usually a trigger, some little thing I glimpse, that brings it on. It could be anything; an old crone wheeling her basket along, the cry of a lost gull, a lone weed clinging desperately to life in between two slabs of concrete. I’d love to be able to say that it triggers memory of my times as a heroic celtic warrior, sword in hand, as is the wont on certain pagan websites these days (no names mentioned) but in fact it just makes me maudlin and wont to wander into the nearest establishment for a pint.
I start thinking about the world around me, and all the things that are, or have changed, and it depresses me, makes me feel old. Not just granddad old, but I remember the Colosseum old.
Maybe it’s just because I’m a Taurean.
It’s the little things that really get to me. Little compared to my thoughts about religion or the death of nature anyway.
It’s things like manners. And good, old fashioned hospitality. Making someone feel welcome, fetching them a drink and offering a bite to eat. I pride myself in that I never knowingly let someone leave my table having not drunk or eaten their fill, or at the very least having being made to feel at home. Simple things. Things that bind people together, and turn strangers into friends, or neighbours.
And it’s not just at home either. People react with astonishment (and sometimes outright suspicion) if you actually pay attention to them. It’s just a matter of making that extra effort to actually care about their answer to “How’re you doing?”. To say please, thank you or sorry, to pick up something they’ve dropped. To hold a door open.
It’s not hard, it’s just that with all the distractions we’ve got leaping out at us, its all too easy to be distracted, to take the shortcut of sending a text instead of phoning, or taking the time to go see someone. Next time you find yourself ordering something at Starbucks, or signing for a parcel, look at the person you’re talking to. I’m not saying do the unblinking-stare-into-their-eyes-like-a-psycho-stalker move, just pay some attention. That’s a dinkum person behind that counter. Say thank you. Ask them how’re they’re doing – and listen to their reply, acknowledge it. You’ll be amazed.
1 comment:
This is a lovely post, and unfortunately, taps into the heart of what is wrong with living in overcrowded urban areas. Too many mice per square inch of cage = too many paranoid, obsessive, dysfunctional mice. Mainly because the human animal, just as with any animal, needs space, fresh air and light and a daily contact with nature in order to stay balanced. Or so I believe, any road.
Your suggestions serve to remind those of us who've been here longer, however, that giving in to the urban insanity isn't viable, and that, even if we are all packed in like rats, we can make the cage a lot more pleasant with those small, but oh-so-essential courtesies.
Thanks for this. It's good to know someone else ponders on such matters, too.
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