The Impact We Make

I was complaining about the state of my tennis game. I started playing the game later in life and I wasn’t particularly athletic during my school years. I play two types of players: Guys half my age that seem to run down my best shots effortlessly and guys around my age that have been playing since they were two years old. I was lamenting my sad fate to my buddy when he asked me why I played the game. “Because I love it,” I said.
Then he said something to me that completely changed my outlook. “Len, you’ve been successful in other areas of your life, why do you feel you have to be so successful at tennis? Could tennis be a game you just play for fun without worrying about whether you win or lose?” Had I been undergoing a brain MRI when he said those words the technicians would have been treated to a light show rivaling the Pinball Wizard’s pinball machine.
How many times in your life does someone drop a gem into a casual conversation that wipes the clouds away, and allows you to see things with the clarity of the Hubble Space Telescope? It’s not the kind of thing that occurs every day but when it happens we are more than grateful. My friend’s tip wasn’t a life changing experience. Yet it has helped me enjoy tennis even more and, I am happy to note, my game seems to have improved now that I’ve relaxed. (If by some chance you’ve seen me play recently, go along. It makes the story better.)
Once in a while someone says something to you that does dramatically change your life for the better. It’s happened to me more than once. My wife said yes when I asked her to marry me. Certainly men and women I have worked for have given me a nudge in a better direction, often when I was drifting. I write because friends and colleagues said I had potential.
Saying something insightful requires exquisite timing, an impeccable choice of words and a listener who has stopped watching The Food Channel just long enough to connect the dots. With the possible exception of motivational speakers, being profound is not the kind of thing one goes around doing all the time. It would be nice to be able to routinely dispense sage advice. But who can plan for such moments? I suppose the best we can do is listen carefully for opportunities to help, do our best to keep our motives pure and speak the truth as we know it, recognizing that our “truth” has its limitations. Naturally, knowing when to say something and when to be still is yet another challenge. Silence at the right time can also be profound.
As a sophomore in high school, Brother Quigley, a member of the Irish Christian order, said something that stuck with me. “When your life is over,” he said, “even if you don’t make it to heaven, you will be amazed by how much good you’ve done.”
Well, if we each have a heavenly bank account that stores good works, all I can say is this: The longer I live the more I worry about whether my account balance is large enough to alleviate some of the things I’ve done that would have been better left unrecorded. Does helping someone improve his life for the better count if I do it by accident?
Most of us have not chosen lives in any way similar to Mother Teresa’s. Yet, in our daily lives we probably unknowingly say and do things that inspire others to change their behavior, take a chance, or become more giving in their relationships. It isn’t always immediately obvious when someone’s words and actions change the way we think or feel. Too often probably, we don’t appreciate the impact others have on us in the moment. When someone’s good work finally dawns on us, how often do we make the effort to tell them how much it meant to us? And do we get points for that too? Don’t laugh! I’m in the September of my years.
My friend probably never imagined he was dispensing marvelous wisdom about my tennis game. At least not consciously; most likely, he felt he was just going along with the flow of the conversation. Sometimes my friend reads The Observer. I hope he recognizes himself. If he doesn’t I’ll have to tell him what his words meant to me. I need the points.

Copyright 2009 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.