Effort goes unseen.
If you run a small business, or carry real responsibility inside one, you know the arithmetic. The quote finished at 9 pm. The invoice chased on a Sunday. The phone answered in the school pick-up line. We put in effort close to 24 hours a day, and most of it passes without a word from anyone. I include myself in that.
My colleague and friend David Olney wrote the post below after a short exchange at a pedestrian crossing in Adelaide.
David is blind. On his way to breakfast, an elderly gentleman behind him said he didn’t know how David did it. David said it took practice. The gentleman said his own legs and hearing weren’t great, but he still couldn’t work it out. David’s answer was that he did it the same way the gentleman did: he made an effort. Then the lights changed, and David heard how hard each of the man’s steps was.
Reflecting on the Importance of Making An Effort
We talked it through in Season 9, Episode 6 of Talking About Marketing, and I kept drifting back to small business. Effort is easy to spot in someone else and easy to overlook in ourselves. And how thirsty our fields must be for a little rain every now and then.
Nobody is asking for perfection. A “thanks for doing that” won’t change how well the café owner pulls a coffee or how neatly the electrician runs a cable. It just says someone noticed, and it costs less than a loyalty card.
When did someone last thank you for the effort?
David’s post is short. Read it with a cuppa, and if it nudges you to thank someone, I won’t complain.
David’s original post follows, unchanged. – Steve
Thank You For Making An Effort
Yesterday morning, I was walking to breakfast at Mylk Bar on Tynte Street. I had navigated the furniture outside Cibo Espresso, managed to dong the dog water bowl with my cane without spilling it, and listened to both traffic signals at the corner to work out which direction would go first. As I lined myself up with the pedestrian ramp, a strong, clear voice came from behind me.
“Gosh, I don’t know how you do it. Very well done,” an elderly gentleman said.
“Thank you. It takes a bit of practice, but it’s worth the effort.”
“My legs don’t work so well, and I can’t hear much, but I still don’t know how you do it.”
“Same way as you. I make an effort.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
The audible signal told us it was safe to cross. We said goodbye and went on with our days. From what I could hear, each of his steps was short and hard won. He had made an effort to notice mine, while I had needed his words to notice his.
That small exchange made my day. It kept returning to me long after breakfast, although it took me nearly twenty-four hours to understand why.
He could have noticed my cane and said nothing. I could have accepted his compliment and left him wondering. Instead, for a few seconds on a street corner, we each let the other into our experience. He saw skill where I sometimes feel only the work of getting somewhere. I heard determination in steps I might otherwise have passed without a thought.
There was kindness in what he said, but there was something more important in what happened next. We recognised a shared experience without pretending that blindness, limited mobility and hearing loss are the same. We both have things to work around. We both practise ways of getting on with our lives. Some days, that takes more effort than others.
It is easy to imagine that noticing another person requires a grand gesture or a perfectly chosen remark. The gentleman did neither. He paid attention and spoke. I answered. By the time the signal changed, we had both been given a different way to think about our morning.
At a distance, the world can seem full of doom and gloom. Up close, it also contains these little opportunities to make it more liveable. Be present enough to notice another person. Be curious enough to let their answer surprise you. And when someone makes an effort, say so.
To the gentleman at the crossing: thank you for making an effort. You helped me see mine differently.
PS I used a photo of David in Gemini to create a reproduction of the scenario. Steve