Have you ever noticed your shoulders drop after the din of an air conditioner or heater shuts off? Or maybe you’ve been sitting in what you thought was silence, and then the refrigerator cycle changes and you realize there wasn’t silence at all? We can function through layers of friction, but by definition, they don’t make a situation easier.
We were working at the Alpine venue in Cortina, and in the final days of the Paralympics, we finally got some real winter weather. We were glad for it.
But what goes along with that is also some added layers of friction. It’s okay. We can handle friction. Working outside in snow mixed with rain. Bulky clothing. The fickleness of our comms. Standing right next to a huge speaker. It was okay, but honestly, it was a little harder to move, a little harder to hear, and in a moment it would be a little harder to see too.
I dropped my glasses on the muddy metal bleachers. When I saw one lens pop out my heart sank a little. There was a lot of day ahead of me, and I hadn’t brought a spare pair of glasses to the mountain that morning. I always joke that I can see Cleveland from just about anywhere, but to read something near or small, I need my readers.
I outstretched my leg and scraped the loose lens out the way with my boot, bent to pick up my frames and then dropped them into my pocket. I walked down the ramp to speak to a colleague. Moments later, someone tapped me on the shoulder from behind. I turned and looked up at a volunteer wearing a neon green reflector vest. He had been right next to me when I dropped my glasses.
As he stretched his hand down to me, he said, “Give me your glasses. I’ll try to fix.” I didn’t know anyone had really noticed let alone cared. I reached into my pocket and gave him a wan smile. I said, “Thank you” as I handed him my frames — my gaze lingering an extra moment to express my appreciation.
I carried on with my business and eventually walked back up the ramp just past where I’d dropped my glasses. As I approached the volunteer’s post, he gave a little smile and handed me my glasses. Two lenses back in place. The only evidence of the spectacle debacle was the scraped lens from when I chose to slide it with my foot. All I had to give him — in addition to my thanks and gratitude — was a Paralympic pin. Hopefully it felt like a form of payment since pins kind of are currency at events like this.
Despite the continued forms of friction I described above, in that moment, I could feel my shoulders drop. I exhaled.
I’ll be keeping these glasses as a memory of the power of a single kindness.
When I see something, I want to be quicker to ask myself, can I do something?
Can I do something to make someone’s shoulders drop a little?
