Okay, so before I begin this blog, I just met someone who reads my blog who I’ve never met before. This hasn’t actually happened before; I’ve only known people who I didn’t expect to read my blog (Let us all remember the guy who wanted to keep the fact that he liked my writing a secret). Suddenly I’ve become less Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? and a lot more Sally Field’s “You like me! You really like me!” And so I want everyone to know that I am no longer a washed-out star. I’m a TALENT.
I’m in a weird, amped up mood when I’m writing this (spoiler alert, I’m writing this on a Sunday), so I think I’ll take this post slow and chill.
I’ve been doing this thing recently that makes me feel like an adult. But not an adult in the scary, overwhelming way. But in the warm, fuzzy “I’m mature” way. I’ve been texting people when I’ve been thinking of them.
I’m a little (a lot) bit of a creep, so I find that I’m sometimes thinking about someone and wondering how they are. So, the other day, I was in Pavement—a coffeehouse on campus—which holds a lot of memories of a very special friend. So I decided I would text her. Not text her to say anything in particular, just to tell her that I was thinking of her and wishing her good vibes. I didn’t text to get a response particularly, or any sort of “pat on the back” for being thoughtful. I just wanted her to know that I was in our place and that I missed her.
And it felt so nice, and the response was so pleasant, that I started doing it more and more. I think that it’s really nice to tell someone that you’ve been thinking of them, and I know that if the roles were reversed, I would be tickled pink to know that someone’s thinking of me. But I am, as we’ve established long ago, more than my fair share of conceited.
Some people had the “lol what are you doing” response, but most people were into it. And I realized that, once I started doing it more, that a lot of people had similar responses. I think that we think of each other a lot more than we let on. And we’re more considerate than we pretend to be, for fear of being seen as “weird” or “intrusive.”
And when I think about it more, the reasoning behind it becomes more clear and more dear. We all love to feel special, and I like making people feel special. Or, more realistically, letting them know that they’re special. And it’s such a small thing and only takes a few seconds, but it really makes someone’s (and your) day. Simply enough, it feels nice to be nice. And I don’t think we always realize how good it feels to be in someone’s thoughts.
The reason it makes me feel old (in a good way) is because I feel like adults reach out to each other for no reason but to say hi. Like, sometimes my friends and I will text in our group chat to see who’s around, but rarely do I text someone just to say I’m thinking of them. It feels almost too intimate, like I’m admitting that I care, or that I’m sentimental.
So I suppose the point of this post is this: try reaching out to someone for no other reason other than to make them feel special. It might be a text like mine (“Thinking of you”) or a cute little compliment or a saucy gif, but try to reach out and expect nothing in return. Don’t initiate a conversation to rear it around to yourself. Just be nice. It’s like eating celery: it’s easy to do, burns calories, and leaves you feeling better than before (albeit maybe a little hungrier).
Also since I know that all of you are practically always thinking about me, feel free to shoot some compliments my way. Was this entire blog just a large ruse to get people to be nice to me? Possibly. Will I be successful? Hopefully. Am I the center of my universe? Without a doubt. I am the sun, and y’all are the east (is that the line?). Make us Romeo and Juliet, minus the family drama and eventual double-deaths.
I don’t want to end on that vaguely morbid note, so I’ll end here. Being nice without any altruistic motives feels like a juice cleanse. It cleans out all the negative and replaces it with positive. It leaves you feeling better than before, healthier, purer. Being kind is as restorative to you as it is to the recipient.
This is me, Danny McCarthy, America’s treasure, signing off!