I firmly believe in small gestures: pay for their coffee, hold the door for strangers, over tip, smile or try to be kind even when you don’t feel like it, pay compliments, chase the kid’s runaway ball down the sidewalk and throw it back to him, try to be larger than you are— particularly when it’s difficult. People do notice, people appreciate. I appreciate it when it’s done to (for) me. Small gestures can be an effort, or actually go against our grain (“I’m not a big one for paying compliments…”), but the irony is that almost every time you make them, you feel better about yourself. For a moment life suddenly feels lighter, a bit more Gene Kelly dancing in the rain.
I believed in a good home, in sane and sound living, in good food, good times, work, faith and hope. I have always believed in these things. It was with some amazement that I realized I was one of the few people in the world who really believed in these things without going around making a dull middle class philosophy out of it. I was suddenly left with nothing in my hands but a handful of crazy stars.
This is a question that came up in one of my upper division classes. Of course I have an opinion and I will write more about it after finals. However, I thought it would be interesting to get your opinion. I’ll be the first to admit some of my best writing has resulted from difficult times. Anne Sexton, Virginia Woolf, and Ernest Hemingway (just to name a few) all tragically took their life yet had a profound impact on Literature still to this day. So, Can happy writers be memorable writers?
I believe they can.