Yesterday, my friend Emily and I drove into the city together. She brought up an experience that reminded her of the gift moments I’d been sharing. It was such a small thing, she said, but it had this quality of the stories you tell.
Emily was engaged in an intense performance week as the pianist for the American Ballet Theater at Lincoln Center. Choosing to save her energy to prep and perform one night, she decided to order sushi to be delivered to the stage door. She was told it would take forty-five minutes to arrive, so she went outside for air—enjoying a fresh, intermittent mist in the early evening. She bought a cup of tea, walked a couple of blocks, stopped at a store to look at clothes for her son. She returned just shy of the time limit to find an angry deliveryman awaiting her on the outdoor steps. He reprimanded her, demanding to know where were you? what happened? He’d tried to call three times, but she hadn’t felt the buzz of her phone. The man was very upset about waiting so long.
Emily described her viewpoint: For some reason, though he was quite cross, I was in a happy state. I’d technically arrived under the amount of time I was told, but I couldn’t muster up the energy for a defense. My voice trailed off in explanation.
I handed the man a five-dollar tip, and he asked me to sign for the food. Something started to shift. As I signed, I asked again if he had to wait a long time. He responded curtly, Yes! While still looking down, I spoke the words, I’m so sorry. I said it in a way I’d never apologized before, almost motherly, like when you don’t blame a child because you know he’s doing his best and just needs to be heard.
What happened next was quite remarkable. I looked up to hand back the sales slip and saw he was completely transformed. He was smiling! Literally, in the time it took me to sign my name, whatever gift came through the moment for him, he got it. As if nothing had happened, he seemed happy, serene, a very nice gentleman. I’ve never seen anything resolve that fast. I thanked him, and we parted ways.
I asked Emily what intention she held in the moment of signing her name that allowed for such a quick shift. I never wavered from the open and joyous heart, she answered. If I had an intention, it was to bring a greater sense of love to the moment. It wasn’t about deciding he needed something; that’s not my purpose. For some reason, what came through opened up an inclusive space that we could share together—and it transformed the experience instantaneously.
Emily and I continued to explore how time and space can change completely in a gift moment, allowing a wave to reach all participants. The only requirement? That someone be open.