It’s been one of those mornings. Disrupted is really the only apt descriptor.

It started with waking early, as is my custom, to go to the gym for a light workout.

(I’m in the process of rehabbing from a ruptured Achilles tendon, so my “workout” consists of walking on the treadmill for 20 minutes while being flanked by silver-haired old ladies who like to sprint. I’m not making this up. I think they derive great pleasure from watching a “young” mid-forties man struggle to sustain 3mph on the treadmill. I’m pretty sure it’s the feature story in their afternoon knitting groups.)

But the workouts help set my mindset for the day. I’m doing something to grow, to improve, and to clear the cobwebs that the morning cup of coffee was unable to do.

This morning, however, I walked into the gym to find that the blustering morning winds had knocked out the power and they were sending everyone home.

Wonderful. Disruption #1.

A bit irritated, I decided I would take a morning walk through the neighborhood, being sure to bundle up to protect myself from the wind.

Oh – did I mention that typically, during these high-wind winter days, the very presence of the wind tends to throw my health into a major tailspin; I almost always end up sick after windy days.

Except that this week, of all weeks, I literally cannot afford to get sick. I am the featured speaker at two events this week – for whatever crazy reason, people are coming to see me talk about social enterprise.

Which means I can’t quite call in sick, now can I?

Hence the gym. Let’s keep the internal machinery operating well so as to avoid any embarrassment of bailing on two events, or worse – being so sick as to be incomprehensible during them.

Walk around the neighborhood it is.

After all, I needed some exercise and some space to finalize what I wanted to say at these events, and since I can’t ride my bike yet (my preferred vehicle for deep introspective thought), I figured a walk would be the trick.

Except when you get home only to realize that your family needs you for a few vital get-the-kids-out-the-door-for-school way, and your window of opportunity for exercise suddenly and abruptly closes.

Disruption #2.

Oh – and then there’s the “hey Dad, I have a minimum day on Friday” announcement from my youngest during school drop-off. A slight panic on my end, a quick check of my calendar only to realize I’ve got a third public event where people are expecting me at, and even a non-math major can see that the schedule doesn’t add up.

Disruption #3.

And then I come home to the oldest lying on the couch, informing me that he’s still sick and staying home another day. He’s telling the truth, so I clear my morning schedule so he’s not stuck alone, and I rearrange things so I can work from home.

Disruption #4.

And then the call from the neighbor that, thanks to the high wind, a portion of our side fence blew over, giving our dog the potential of rapidly expanding her kingdom, should we deign give her a moment to run free in the back.

Disruption #5.

I won’t bore you with the burnt bagels I managed to “toast”, the fact that I’ve got an important meeting this afternoon that I need my full faculties for, or the panic that is setting in regarding the possibility that the wind has run its course with my health too.

Disruptions #6-10.

 

But then, a disruption of a different sort came up.

I notice my oldest, (you know, the sick one) pulling things out of the coffee cabinet. He starts asking some clarifying questions on how to best brew coffee, and then asks me which type of coffee I want: Guatemala, Honduras, or Kenya. I picked the Kenya.

And then I turn away, choked up at his kindness.

I feel overwhelmed with the fact that my son saw me – saw the state I was in, didn’t ask if I wanted coffee – he just started making it.

It was such a meaningful moment.

Such a small act on his part literally shifted the entire trajectory of my day. Yes, there is some sickness I have to deal with, there is a fence that needs repair, and there are some scheduling things to work out.

But in the midst of all of this, someone took notice of me and made me coffee.

This small, singular act of kindness and thoughtfulness changed my day. And probably my week.

It certainly solidified what I want to communicate at these events this week:

Look around you.

Notice people.

Do something nice.

For we all are dealing with our own disruptions, we all are living out some kind of story, and we just never know the impact that a single act of noticing can have on a person’s life.

And I’ll take disruptions like that any day.