A number of years ago when I worked at a school on 86th Street and Park Avenue, a homeless man by the name of Billy frequented the block. He used to stand in front of the bank holding doors for customers. A thin, older, African American gentleman, Billy had grey in his hair and several teeth missing. But he always smiled and offered a genuine open door—paper cup in his hand, just in case.

I’d gotten to know Billy in the afternoons walking from work back to the Lexington Avenue subway station. I never gave him money, but always stopped to chat. We’d share a few moments in easy conversation, connecting in a happy, friendly way. We both maintained an uplifting demeanor though we each had our troubles. I enjoyed my time with him immensely.

Once, after a particularly difficult day at work, Billy saw me coming and asked why I was looking so blue. I told him, it was just one of those days, but he could see that I was down. Then he did something that still brings tears to my eyes when I remember it today. He peered into his cup, shook the change around a bit, looked up with utter sincerity and asked, Can I buy you a Coke?

Billy’s gesture of generosity melted my heart and shifted my world.

I thought of him this week when reading the story of a woman who commuted to work through a busy section of the city, always seeing a certain homeless man with bright eyes on the off-ramp of an expressway. If the light was red, she’d spend a couple of minutes talking with this upbeat soul, giving him change and exchanging human kindness. One day, when she got laid off from her job, she completely fell apart. How would she, as a single mother of four, manage until she could find work? On the drive home, she didn’t want to face anyone. She hoped the light at the ramp turned green on her approach. But it didn’t. Instead, the man had a big smile, strolled over to her car window and said, Today I will give you a dollar.

What is it about true generosity, especially when means are low, that means so much? Does a pattern that usually lingers in the background of our awareness emerge into visibility when we give or receive without agenda?

Last weekend, I walked past a young, homeless woman sitting on the sidewalk holding a sign that read Lost everything but my smile and my hope. I saw the sign before I met her eyes, and when I looked up, she was smiling at me with raised eyebrows that commented, Well, here I am! In receiving the gift of that wry smile, offered in cheerfulness and courage when her life had emptied, I knew the spirit of true generosity.

Image: Julie Parker – Heart and Soul matters.

New York City is a place where strangers dance to the rhythm of gift-moments-in-motion. A brief exchange—the world shifts—and we continue on our way, all the better for having crossed paths.

In midtown for an early meeting at Pret A Manger, I decided to buy a lunch salad before leaving for my next appointment. As I stood in front of boxes neatly lined up for perusal, the lunch crowd began filing in. A man in a bit of a hurry chose something from the case and turned his attention to a basket of chips directly in front of me at the edge of the refrigerated section. Where are the…? he murmured to himself, picking up one small bag after another and putting it back. I noticed that he rejected the flavored varieties. Shortly after, he gave up and headed to the cashier.

Since I had observed his intention, I put my salad search on hold to walk the length of the display, peering into other metal baskets for plain potato chips. They must be here somewhere, I thought as I took note of BBQ, Chipotle and Vinegar. Then, at the far end of the far basket, I caught sight of Sea Salt in a bag with a simple blue stripe. I picked up the bag and headed to the counter where I thought I saw the man among the payees. I hoped I wasn’t too late.

As I edged up behind him, I asked, Were you looking for plain chips? He answered without turning around, Yes. Then, in one simple motion, he pivoted, took the bag from my hand while looking me in the eyes, and said happily, Thank you. You’re the best. He spoke it like we were old friends.

Later that day, I found myself feeling so uplifted. Someone thought I was the best! Wow. Maybe I am, I laughed to myself, re-living that moment through the image of his light-filled, green eyes.

Meanwhile, on the Upper West Side, a friend of mine experienced her own unexpected gift encounter. She writes: I was wearing a new jacket that I bought in Seattle. It’s a sort of deep aqua color with light aqua trim. Near 70th Street, I passed a middle-school field trip. One girl turn to me and said, “I like your jacket. The color is pretty.” I thanked her, and then the girl next to her said, “I like the scarf.” Another round of thanks, and a boy chimed in, “Actually, the whole look works.” Made me smile all day!

What are the calculated odds of being complimented by one middle-schooler, let alone three? We have such power to affect one another in the simplest gestures. Perhaps this is one graceful way we learn together, moment by moment, the effortless choreography of the loving heart.

Last spring, I joined a Meetup group for women in Westchester County, where I live. I was drawn to the hikes they offered and the down-to-earth vibe on their site.

I signed up for a walk organized at Teatown Lake Preservation—a nature preserve with which I’m very familiar. After we circled the lake, several walkers wanted to keep hiking. So I found myself, on my first Meetup excursion ever, leading the group on a hike up the Twin Lakes trail. Though I hadn’t been on that trail in years, I grew up hiking in the Adirondack Mountains. I know how to follow trail markers. Many of the women seemed impressed by my leading skills, though I kept insisting I’m just following markers.

The next weekend, four of us gathered at another nature sanctuary for a longer trek through the woods. Of the four, Sally and I were seasoned hikers. Elaine and Amy wondered at our leading skills in a landscape of crisscrossing paths. Sally and I maintained that leading by following was easy once you knew a few key points.

Up the trail a ways, Elaine mentioned that she’d like to learn to lead hikes someday. In that moment, I happily stepped aside, following behind to guide her in looking up ahead for the colored diamonds posted on trees, watching for turns in the trail, or to stopping at a juncture to make sure the group stayed together. Elaine approached the task with humility and openness. This impressed me because in my many years of teaching, I’d noticed that these exact qualities made a student more teachable.

Elaine soon gained the necessary knowledge and experience and found her rhythm. She paused on the trail, turning back to us with a smile of understanding. Sally answered Elaine’s smile with it’s like connecting the dots or, more accurately, connecting the diamonds.

A spiritual principle of connecting diamonds states that events are like diamonds, with invisible lines connecting them as a part of a much larger plan. Learning to see and follow these lines gives us a smoother, more joyful ride through daily life.

Following trail markers is like seeking the next moment of love and light. Life goes on ahead to mark our path with diamonds—bright inner lights. We need only look for the next diamond, the next opportunity to give and receive love. If we don’t see it, we can walk up ahead a little to check. Where there’s a juncture, we can pause to exercise more care in choosing our path.

On the last leg of the hike, Amy cheerfully bounded forward from the back of line saying she’d like to learn, too. Elaine, I called out, now you can teach Amy! Off they went, while Sally and I smiled and chatted, following their lead in a moment of sweet, simple happiness on the morning trail.

My downstairs neighbor, whom I’ll call Kathy, moved in last fall. She didn’t seem entirely happy with the move and, for whatever reason, she turned down an invitation for a potluck supper with the rest of us on the property. I must admit she scared me a bit.

Shortly after the new year, Kathy began practicing guitar and playing later into the evening than I would prefer. I hesitated to speak up; in fact, my imagination took over to picture the worst possible outcome if I did. She’d get defensive, the conversation would turn sour, and tension would hang in the air until one of us moved out. [My theater background has me well trained.]

One night, though Kathy was playing quietly, I couldn’t fall asleep. I didn’t have her number, so I emailed to ask if we could chat the next day. The next afternoon while warming up my car in the parking lot, Kathy drove in. Here was my moment. I’d planned what to say. Since I play guitar and love to sing with other musicians, I thought I’d invite her to play together—and at the same time make a request that she stop practicing by 10pm. This would take finesse.

Kathy got out of her car with a wary look when I called her name and asked if she’d gotten my e-mail. You play guitar, I said as an opener. Yes, she answered somewhat guardedly, you can hear? I commented that the walls are thin, and she mentioned being able to hear my cat howling at times. She said she didn’t mind since she has a loud-meowing cat named Tally, but I apologized nonetheless.

I shared with Kathy how her playing was inspiring me to pick up my mostly sedentary guitar. She asked about my musical background, and in the next several minutes, a veritable miracle opened up. It turned out we both had spent time in the worlds of theater and music. We’d worked with some of the same directors and actors. When she mentioned a particular theater company, I showed her a tax document in the mail I’d just picked up—from that theater.

Kathy went on to talk about open mic nights in the area, how she wanted to get back to playing out and was looking for someone to sing back-up vocals. I said I’d be happy to harmonize and suggested we get together on the weekend.

As the conversation waned, Kathy asked for my cat’s name. Belle, I said. Belle and Tally, she replied. That sounds like a duo. We laughed, and I gave her a high five. As I walked back to my car, I promised to check in on Sunday afternoon.

What great relief I felt as I drove to the grocery store! Once again, the mind had played its tricks with fear. Yet once again, a gift moment opened like a flower to sunlight—in this case, bringing literal harmony.

After a week of communication challenges everywhere I turned, I woke up Friday morning determined to bring my world into balance. In three situations, this required patience, persistence and trust despite any agitation or anxiety I might be feeling about money.

First, I had to find a way to turn down a job offer tactfully. For karmic balance, it was important to honor my own position and to cause no harm or insult to the program’s founder. Since there had been some disharmony in the past, this required a deft hand.

Next, a rental car scenario proved frustrating. I didn’t notice until I was driving home that the car they gave me smelled like smoke. Bad weather delayed a trade in, and limited availability at that location further complicated the exchange. I had to drive to another site; I ended up with a large SUV; and, I was charged incorrectly. At some point during the week, I’d spoken with every representative at that office. This was the morning to work it out.

Before making that call, however, I happened to look at my cell phone bill online. I hadn’t been notified of the due date (yesterday), and the amount startled me. This meant another call to work out charges and correct the notification.

I was up to my nose in financial misunderstandings. But what did I expect? On Monday morning, I’d asked Life to teach me about financial flow.

I often use a simple technique as a learning tool, which works something like this: Knowing that somewhere in the universe is someone who can teach me the truth about a topic (in this case, money), I ask to be taught. Then I watch carefully for anything that appears in my world to answer my request.

This week’s lesson and challenge was to slow down to the moment of goodwill and allow a resolution to occur naturally —a different rhythm than forcing my point. To help me learn, Life gave me a polite, proficient customer service representative at the phone company who even had a sense of humor. He walked me through the charges to my account as I put attention on calming my instinctive reaction to panic, fight or defend. He posted a credit where he could, even though the mistake had, unknowingly, been mine.

By the time I called the rental car company, the costs had somehow been corrected, and I was given a way for a third party to pay the bill. Then I wrote an email to the program director with as much grace as I could muster, releasing the job offer as well as any residual angst from my heart.

Charges may come and go; jobs may come and go. But the opportunity to ask and learn from Life directly is a constant gift. Isn’t it interesting that the same words used for the uplifting qualities of life—balance, trust—also have significant meaning in the world of finance?

A certain pattern has played out behind the scenes in my life for years. It has to do with pace. I’ve found that the natural pace of life differs from the time schedule by which the world runs. Three times this week, I had to decide whether to tend the moment as it unfolded or ignore that service to be on time.

First, after attending a business meeting in Manhattan, I called a friend who works nearby to meet for lunch. She joined me at a health food store just as I was locating a hard-to-find supplement. We then walked to Grand Central Terminal in search of salmon rolls.

As we stood eating at the counter, comparing the food quality to the last time we bought from this vendor, our conversation turned to a challenging situation in her life. I flowed with the natural rhythm that comes from listening. But at one point, I realized I wasn’t going to make the deadline I’d set for my trip home. I had two important errands to run after the hour trip to reach my car. I chose to put aside my planned schedule to remain in the moment, and our dialogue continued to its natural conclusion.

I walked to the subway, calculating my new estimated time of arrival. Suddenly, something told me to check the supplements I’d purchased at the store. While the name on the bottle was correct, the fine print was not. I’d purchased a slightly different formula than intended—for myself and a friend. So again, I had to decide: do I continue on, trying to make up for lost time, or do I return to the store for an exchange? Though it meant further delay, I went back to the store. By some miracle, I still ended up with enough time at day’s end to run the essential errands before returning home.

A few days later, I was tested a third time on this point. As I exited the pet store on a bitter cold afternoon, I was stopped by someone asking if I had jumper cables. Yes, I said, what time is it? But in a heartbeat, I knew I’d help, even if it meant being late for my client meeting. The young couple didn’t know how to use jumper cables, so I talked them through the instructions while we shivered in the wind. Acid corrosion on their battery terminal prevented us from starting the car. But now they knew their next step, and I was free to drive home for my videoconference.

In this case, my client ended up running late, so all worked out. What does that tell me? Before there was time, there was a rhythm in the hearts of people. When we follow this rhythm, maybe time itself shifts. Our minds release their grip, we experience a greater trust, and we choose to move at the pace of love.

This week while driving down the main street of a small nearby town, a car pulled out from a parking spot into my right fender. I thought the driver had seen me, so I was shocked to hear the crunch of metal on metal. I pulled over to get out of the car, somewhat deflated at the irony of life. I’d just gotten my car back from the shop a few weeks before.

Immediately, the other driver began a sincere apology, taking full responsibility for the incident. He told me that I was in his blind spot. I guessed him to be a college student, and as we exchanged information, this turned out to be true. He wasn’t sure how to proceed; in fact, when he returned from his Dad’s car with registration and insurance cards he’d found in the glove compartment, he didn’t even know which was which. His honesty and desire to do the right thing softened the blow. By the end of our short meeting, we shook hands to introduce ourselves, wishing it had been under different circumstances. And I came out of shock long enough to assure him that accidents happen.

Very fortunately, I’d been on my way to my chiropractor’s office when the accident occurred. After about an hour resting between adjustments, I regained my balance. Sometime during the treatment, my phone rang. The young man had told me his Dad would call, and I didn’t know what to expect. I had my guard up, wondering if I’d have to assert that the accident wasn’t my fault. It turned out to be the driver’s mother. She seemed to be running interference between her husband (who was not pleased at that moment) and her son. She wanted to connect, to be sure I was OK, and to express their desire not to report the fender bender to the insurance company, if that was acceptable to me.

Over the next few days, we spoke several times. I got an estimate for the damage as well as the rental car cost for the four days it would take to repair and repaint. I texted pictures and documentation. She assured me all costs would be covered, and we agreed it would be best for them to pay the auto body shop directly.

Something else happened during these phone calls and texts. Politeness and mutual respect built a sense of trust and goodwill between strangers. We talked a bit about where her son was attending college, and we wished each other a happy new year. When she apologized for any inconvenience to me, I said, That’s alright; everybody learned something. She wholeheartedly agreed, Absolutely! And no one was hurt; that’s what’s most important.

It’s a pleasure to do business with people who demonstrate integrity and goodwill. When we step up to take responsibility, everyone benefits. And who knows that a chance meeting might not be entirely random after all.

P.S. 86 Photos of Acts of Kindness : http://www.viralnova.com/acts-of-kindness-random/

At a holiday breakfast this week for Employee Assistance Professionals and friends, I happened to sit next to a nurse who serves as the Quality Assurance Director of a nearby recovery center. As we chatted about day-to-day work activities, she mentioned a drawback of her current position—the lack of direct contact with patients. But, she said, I like to think that I’m making changes from the top down now.

I asked this nurse-turned administrator (whom I’ll call Elisabeth) more about her past experience in patient care. The energy in the room shifted. She lit up as she shared stories of her earlier career, helping young mothers with babies and small children to turn their lives around.

We were told to report cases to CPS [Child Protective Services], she said, but I thought, how is that going to help the child? So we went into the homes, cleaned the houses, decorated kids’ rooms, and taught young mothers how to run a household. We taught them how to take care of themselves and their children. They were so dirty. We cleaned them up. Cleaned the house. Showed them how to be organized. I wasn’t specially trained in this; it was just from having been a mother myself.

Elisabeth offered an example: A seventeen-year-old mother from the Mt. Vernon ghetto would repeatedly walk into our facility, drop her son in the nursery, and come to the kitchen to get breakfast. One day I told her, “keep your son with you—this is what we’re going to do. Go check his diaper, wash his hands and wash your hands. Then come get food.” When she had a plateful, I said, “Alright. You can have this food, but he eats first. Feed your baby first, then you can eat. That’s how it works.” It was amazing to see the change in her. She went from cursing at me to happily following the routine.

I had fifteen women in all—and years later, they are all still sober. I hear from them all the time. One sends me flowers every Christmas. She says, ‘as long as you get flowers from me, you’ll know I’m sober.’ Twelve of them even went into nursing as a way to feed their families.

The joy and fulfillment of caring for these women and children poured through Elisabeth with a glow that warmed us both in the true holiday spirit. I saw in her a rare caregiver who chose to be present and available to the needs of the moment beyond what she’d been told to do. Without her courage to listen and follow her instincts, children would have been separated from their mothers, and young women may have struggled for a lifetime with the basics of survival.

Maybe Elisabeth wasn’t “specially trained,” but she clearly had a gift for meeting others where they lived and holding the opportunity for them to take the next step.

Directing a musical theater production at a kids’ program nearby, I found myself in the midst of chaos. It was my first time working with this particular program—learning how things are done and how I might help. In decades of directing, I’d never witnessed a situation quite like this one.

The cast of fifteen middle schoolers floundered in a fall session that lacked clear structure. I was repeatedly told this was not the norm, that issues with staff and students had created a tornado effect. But I wasn’t entirely convinced. I struggled to maintain composure at rehearsals, to validate how things had been done in the past while bringing new, simple practices to the table that might calm and focus the actors. Things like beginning rehearsal sitting in a circle in order to be present to one another, to name what’s working well, and to let kids ask questions or share concerns. Or playing brief warm-up games that, at first, the students could not accomplish.

The week of performance, we moved from a rehearsal space into the theater space. This is the point at which the producer and I had a conversation about how to move forward. I introduced the circle idea and the principle of taking care of one another. He was all for it. Yet, there had been so little focused rehearsal time that we still couldn’t manage to get through the whole show. Without the preparation required, lines/cues/entrances/exits/choreography/lyrics sometimes went out the window. And there’d been no real opportunity to explore character or give notes.

I’ve heard it said that a miracle is a changed consciousness. If that’s true, what happened next was indeed a miracle because a gift moment came through to change mine. In a grueling dress rehearsal, I looked up at the end of a musical number to see all the actors in place in their line downstage. In a flash of recognition through their faces, time stood still—and I heard myself say inwardly, I love these kids. When did that happen?

Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, a bond of respect was built while I was busy trying to save a sinking ship. Later that afternoon, two of the older kids approached me to ask if they could please all stay later at the next day’s rehearsal. They wanted to run the show more. There’s nothing more rewarding than having kids trust enough to ask, returning the respect I’d extended. We did stay late the next day, and we made good progress.

At the posting of this story, I’m about to attend the closing performance. We’ve had significant technical challenges, even a snowstorm. Audiences have been extremely patient and forgiving.

While bringing the highest architecture of achievement to a creative endeavor is a worthy goal, perhaps it’s good to experience a bit of a train wreck to remember what’s truly taking place behind the scenes.