The Magic of Giving

One of my favorite phrases from the literature of Alcoholics Anonymous is "The gift of desperation."  How great is that concept?  It reminds me that I can and must and often find the greatest gifts in my life have come from some of the darkest places.  It reminds me that if I'm always pursuing pleasure and running to escape pain then I'm going to miss a lot of important stuff.

From one of the Big Book stories: "I wish I could tell you  how and why A.A. works, but I don't know.  I only know that it does.  I think that no one comes to A.A. until he's tried everything else.  I lived a life where I couldn't enjoy anything.  I was scared to death.  And as long as alcohol eased situations socially, it helped just fine, but somewhere along the line it backfired."

Backfire is a great word.  It's when an internal combustion engine undergoes a mistimed explosion in the cylinder or exhaust.  A "mistimed explosion."  If I ever write a story for the Big Book I'm going to title it "A Mistimed Explosion."  Today, of course, it has come to mean when a plan or action rebounds adversely on the originator, having the opposite effect of what was intended.  Maybe I could write a second story and call it "Adversely Rebounding Actions."

Yesterday at my coffee shop I asked the youngster behind me what she was planning to order.  I do this to ensure that the patron isn't going to get some huge, overpriced specialty coffee drink that is going to set me back $28.99.  She was pleased and a little embarrassed (and did not refuse the offer which always kind of irritates me because I'd rather hoard my cash to fund my own huge, overpriced specialty coffee drinks) and scuttled off to the area reserved for people waiting for their drinks.  A bit later she came over and told me she was from Turkey and her face lit up when I told her that SuperK and I had recently visited Turkey and absolutely loved it.  She scuttled away and I went outside to hand my wife the hugely expensive slice of coffee cake I had purchased, hoping she wouldn't eat any of it while being pretty sure she would claim her half.  I always have to fight back the urge to stuff the whole thing in my mouth - eating all of it myself because I love coffee cake! - but the crumbs clinging to my lips would give me away.   When I strolled back into  the shop little Miss Turkey came over, asked if I had any dietary restrictions, then opened a container she was carrying, revealing a Turkish specialty treat she had made to share with her fellow employees at the clothing shop where she works, and told me to dig one out.  I pointed out SuperK and told her to head out to our table.  She called SuperK "Krees" which tickled my spouse no end.  She told us where she worked and we said we were going to stop by later for lunch and she said "great" (I often forget that in many cultures the sharing of food is paramount and an example of hospitality) and the whole thing was just magical.  It reminds me that the magic is in the little things.  It reminds me I fall short when I try to inflate myself in the eyes of the world.  

It was the highlight of my day and nothing else was even close.