Little Interactions

There’s a French bakery on the corner of our street. It’s a blessing and a curse. I work there sometimes when I’m free from Zoom commitments and want to feel like I have real adult interaction while the kids are at school.

But really, I come here, order a latte, and pull up my laptop. God forbid I actually talk to a real human.

There’s one person I talk to here, though. She works the morning shift, and she’s so kind and friendly. Let’s call her Emma.

This morning, Emma said cheerily, “Hi Sim.” I greeted her and asked about her long weekend. Then I sat down with my computer, screen in front of my face.

A few minutes later, a toddler walked in holding his Dad’s hand. “Hi James,” she said. “Croissant and water?” The toddler smiled his thank you. The father did too. I felt a slight pang of jealousy. Emma has other friends besides me!

Ridiculous, of course, but I really did think that.

Then, as I wrapped up my work and finished up my latte, I looked up to thank Emma. But she was moving quickly, from behind the counter, through the front door, and onto the sidewalk. There was a man outside with a white cane, touching it against the wall of the shop. He was visually impaired, trying to find his way.

Emma placed her hand on his shoulder. He gave her a hug. Then she held his hand and walked him into the bakery.

I was struck by the beauty of this small moment. Here’s a woman whose job it is to take people’s orders at a fancy French bakery, where people pay $5 for a croissant. It’s beautiful and posh and delicious and popular. There’s no need for her to exude kindness to everyone who comes in. That’s certainly not the norm in New York City. We typically avoid eye contact and ignore one another.

And yet, here’s a woman who is working busily, serving other people, meeting their demands—and doing it all with a smile. I watch her work for ten minutes and I’m exhausted, but she shows no sign of slowing down.

Here’s what I’m thinking about. Most of us aren’t living this way. We’re working hard and carrying a lot constantly, but our outlooks aren’t so pristine. Who among us takes the time to learn the names of strangers? Do we go out of our way to help other people, not expecting anything in return?

Maybe that’s what’s wearing us out and tiring us out and burning us out. We’re constantly just trying to guard ourselves, making sure no one infringes on our needs. We’re not giving, we’re taking, and doing that is exhausting. Imagine eating at an all-you-can-eat buffet. At some point, you’re full and tired and feeling sick. Isn’t it so much more sustainable to eat what we need, but also to expend our energies elsewhere too?

I see Emma, in a city of hustle and bustle, and she’s in sync with the rhythms, hustling and bustling alongside of it. But somehow, because of how she approaches it, she’s not struggling with the same things that the rest of us are. She’s not worn out by the city, I think because she’s figured out a way to live in harmony with it.

Perhaps that’s a way for us to live with harmony, too.