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The other day, I had lunch with a friend at a restaurant near the state Capitol building in Olympia, Washington and decided to visit the nearby library. I was searching through the library's computer catalog when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
"Can you help me find the children's books?" I turned to see that the speaker was an adorable girl of about 7 who, standing beside me, was the same height as I was sitting down. She clutched a book tightly to her chest as though it might be snatched away at any moment. Her voice had the plaintive quality of a child looking for her mommy instead of a book.
I don't know why she had chosen me to ask for help. I'm obviously not a librarian. In fact, I was one of the worst people for her to ask since this was a library I was visiting for the first time. But I desperately wanted to help her.
I swiveled in my chair and saw a librarian seated behind a desk no more than 10 feet away.
"I don't know where the children's section is," I said. "But that lady over there can help you." I pointed to the librarian and watched as the girl walked tentatively over and stood beside the librarian without speaking, waiting to be noticed. I was about to walk over when the librarian saw the girl, heard her request and escorted her to the children's section. Satisfied that the girl had been helped, I returned to the computer catalog.
I was surprised at how good I felt about doing something to make a difference for that girl.
This encounter reminded me of the time my wife Carol and I were returning from Flagstaff, Arizona to our home in the little town of Strawberry about 60 miles from Flagstaff and 2 hours north of Phoenix.
It was raining hard as we approached Strawberry and I slowed to about 35 miles an hour because of the slick highway pavement. Suddenly, we saw a little dog that looked like some variety of Terrier, dripping water off its fur and sniffing the grass by the opposite side of the road from where we were driving.
We made a u-turn, pulled up beside the dog and Carol opened the passenger side door. To our surprise, without hesitation, the dog jumped into Carol's lap as though relieved to be out of the rain.
We drove home and, once inside, inspected the dog's collar and called the owner who couldn't have been more grateful or relieved. She and a friend had been camping all day and had become separated from their dog. After searching for hours, they gave up and drove home to Phoenix, devastated that they had been forced to desert their dog.
The next day, they drove up to reclaim the dog and brought us flowers, a picture of the dog and their thanks, thanks, thanks.
Here's the reason I'm relaying these stories: In my life, I've given money to organizations representing people I'll never meet and marched for causes on behalf of people who have no idea who I am (nor I they). I had only a slight sense that I was making a difference.
But when I helped that little girl and rescued that dog, there was no question about the difference I was making. I will remember those two encounters (and a few others like them) for the rest of my life.
While still doing what I can to help people who aren't in my daily life, I realize that I've been more concerned about the people I will never meet than to the people I meet every day. I've been grumpy when I could have been smiling. Complaining when I could have been grateful. Being busy when a few minutes conversation could have made a big difference.
I'm going to create more memories like I now have about that little girl and that little dog by living inside the question, "How can I help?"
I have been an author, speaker and consultant since 1984. I help organizations, teams and individuals produce breakthroughs in results and relationships. Visit my websites to learn about the resources I offer.
http://www.conflictresolutiontraining.net/
Simple, easily learned techniques for resolving the conflicts in your work and personal life
http://www.larrybarkan.com/
Workshops and resources for leadership, management, team and personal training and development
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