I was sitting with my husband at a restaurant bar watching my beloved Broncos get spanked by the Patriots yesterday. The game was less than spectacular, but it’s always fun to watch football with a beer and a crowd.
The bartender was a true professional, hands and bottles flying, mixers mixing, shakers shaking. Fun to watch. Whenever he slowed down, I peppered him with questions about his job. He indulged my curiosity and kept my glass filled.
We chatted with a middle-aged couple who stopped in for a quick drink before they were off to an event. They both wore Bronco jerseys, so I wondered where they were going. The game was almost over and being played in New England, so I didn’t think it was football-related. They excitedly told us they were going to a punk rock concert nearby. Now, if you’d have asked me where they looked like they were headed and gave me three choices — all three “punk rock concert” — I still wouldn’t have guessed punk rock concert. But their enthusiasm was endearing.
A few minutes later a woman walked over and stood by my side. “I just had to tell you how fabulous your hair is,” she said. She went on to compliment the color, the style, how it was perfect for my face. We chatted for a moment and then she left me to bask in the glow of her generosity.
it’s not the first time someone complimented my hair like this. It had to have been ten years ago. I was walking into the post office when she walked out. Same kind of conversation as at the bar. It, too, gave me warm fuzzies. And I’ve never forgotten it. Total stranger compliments me out of the blue. BAM. Take THAT, you lazy cynic.
We all get compliments — on our looks, our clothes, our home, our work. Some are less than sincere, some are undeserved, some are a freakishly long time coming. But hearing them makes us feel all squishy.
So why don’t I hand out more compliments?
It won’t change the world, but it might change somebody’s world.
[Psst. Hey, you. Yeah, you … you just read the HELL out of that. Excellent job!]