Sometimes it feels like just another day, until I remember that “Each new day is more special than the last.” Often, I must sit back and reflect on how blessed I am to realize the truth of those words.
Self-pity tries to sneak in on occasion, and I shut the door. This usually happens after I’ve written something I consider Ernest Hemingway-worthy yet heard no praise from those who’d read it. That hasn’t stopped me from writing for many years now.
Artists often suffer the same fate as writers, getting no accolades until after they’ve passed. Over the years, I’ve received more praise for holding doors open for people than for anything else.
That’s okay, because I was taught to perform random acts of kindness for strangers rather than expect kudos for personal accomplishments. A “Thank you” for holding that door open goes a long way, and I make sure to return the gesture when someone does the same for me.
Proverbs 27:2 says, “Let another praise you, and not your own mouth; a stranger, and not your own lips.”
In restaurants, I always tell the server if their food is great, since I’m sure they hear the opposite most often. I once asked the publisher of the “Lamar Democrat” newspaper, Renee Reeves, how I’d know the stories I sent her were any good. It was rare for a reader to ever acknowledge such.
Renee told me that subscribers would let her know right away if they weren’t good. That seemed a bit odd to me, but I suppose it’s just human nature, as sad as it seems. People take things like newspaper stories for granted, as if a robot wrote them. That’s happening now with AI, or artificial intelligence. These days, if I come across a good human-written piece, I try to let the writer know.
I do my best to compose excellent stuff, whether it’s articles, poems, or songs. If it appeals to me, that’s as good as it’ll get because I’m not working with someone else’s hands or brain. I’ve written some very funny things, though it seems I’m the only one who finds it humorous. It doesn’t matter what others are thinking because I can’t read their minds, which is good.
At least once a month, I celebrate what I call “Mike Appreciation Day.” This is a time to perk myself up when no one else does it for me. My treat is a trip through Culver’s drive-thru for a peanut butter and chocolate shake, or a visit to Dutch Brew Coffee for a raspberry mocha with whipped cream. Joleen always gets to partake of the celebration, so it’s not strictly a pride thing for me.
I’ll keep opening doors for people, especially women, even if they don’t acknowledge it, which has happened. If my ‘appreciation meter’ gets too low, the fastest way to recharge it is to take my old truck to a car show.
The 1950 Chevrolet pickup garners more attention in a few hours than I can handle. Add that to the thank-you from opening doors for folks, and my story and songwriting become nothing more than personal enjoyment. That’s how I prefer to keep things.
