Living Happiness

A few weeks ago, I was out shopping with my husband for Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations for our home. We had gone to one of the few large department store-ish type places one can find here in Crete, and our patience had been worn steadily away as we’d trolled through the over-full aisles, round the over-stuffed bins, amidst the over-stimulated children. Loud, obnoxiously high-pitched music blasted through the store speakers, so much so and for so long, that by the time we reached the kitchenware aisle, our strand of patience was hanging on by one lone, very short, very fragile thread.

It was around this time that “It” happened.

We had spent about five minutes on this aisle debating over the merits of this or that tablecloth, when we finally made our choice and rounded the corner to begin our slow but deliberate advance toward the cash register when “She” approached.

“She” was the tired, bedraggled, put-upon shop girl who was in charge of keeping kitchen and housewares looking spic and span.

“Excuse me, but you’re not supposed to take the tablecloths out of the bag when you’re looking at them.”

Sensing aggression in her tone, I quickly responded, “We didn’t.”

“Yes, you did,” pointing at the nice, neatly packaged tablecloth in our basket and holding up the untidy, un-bagged matching tablecloth she was holding in her hands.

Feeling my heat rise, I answered back with another, “No! We didn’t!”

“But you were on that aisle. I saw you.”

“No, you didn’t see me, because we didn’t open the bag.”

Tempers now fully flaming, she said, “Look, I’m not accusing you of anything, I just …”

“Yes, you did accuse me. You didn’t ‘ask’ me anything. You said I did something I didn’t do,” I cut her off.

And just as quickly as it began, it ended. “She” turned back to straightening her aisle, and hubby and I finally released ourselves from the madness that was that store.

The thing is, this Incident didn’t end for me. For hours afterward I was bothered by a deep regret over the words we’d exchanged and over my loss of temper. Why had I been so defensive? Why did I have to let my emotions get the better of me?

As I fretted over what had happened (fully realizing that what was done was done), I could not deny that the course of action I had taken that afternoon was not the only possible response. In fact, there were a million other ways (well, maybe not a million) I could have responded, and chief amongst those for me was one response in particular – to respond to her needs.

I realized, playing back the scene in my mind, that I had been that shop girl once upon a time. I had been the one working all kinds of messed up hours during the holidays to make ends meet (or to make extra money for gifts or for gas for the drive home to my parents’), when what I really wanted was to be out spending time with my friends … or doing my own Christmas shopping. I had been that tired girl, frustrated with the customers who just didn’t seem to care about anything and left the shelves in a mess of disarray that I had to refold or tidy up, again and again and again … and again. And if not for the way my life had curiously unfolded, I could have been her still.

I realized that when “She” approached me that afternoon, what she was really saying was: “I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I want to go home too, but I can’t. I’m stuck here until my shift finishes, and the last thing I want is for my work to be made harder than it already is.”

And to me, the most adequate response I could have made was: “I can see you’re tired and frustrated. I don’t know who unpacked these tablecloths, but how about I help you get them sorted again?”

When I had this realization, when I saw this conversation as it could have been played out in a new way, I could not avoid the truth that stood so staunchly in my path:

I could have lit her candle but, instead, I had chosen to blow it out.

How often do we do this, though, on a daily basis, without realizing it? How often do we forget that our lives are not just meant to keep our the candles in our own souls alight but to light the candles of those around us too? Sadly, I know that the answer to both of these questions, for me, is “Far too often.”

And so, ever since that Incident a few weeks ago, I have tried to carry this lesson with me as I go through the motions and events of my day. It is the season of the coming of light, after all. A season when what we celebrate (no matter what belief or persuasion) is the overcoming of deep, dark soulless winter by the arrival of light and peace and hope.

We even light candles in a show of this awareness. Passing the light from one to another in a solemn, yet joyful, demonstration that in our cores we understand that this is what the season is all about.

Why not do the same with each other: Can we help someone else’s candle stay alight today? Can we help keep it from going out? Two candles afire with the light of love and life and hope gleam far more brightly than the light of one.

Can we learn the lesson?

Wishing all of you a very holy, magical, joy-full, light-filled season.
Happy Holidays,

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