The Little Things

It was day four and my heels were rubbed raw. On day one I had given up my new professional pumps for nude flats, and while the loss of a heel had increased my overall stability, I was still limping from one end of the building to the other. Of course, it was on this day that my boss offered me an opportunity I couldn't refuse - to accompany her to the East Wing, the home of the First Lady's office. I jumped up (ouch) and followed her like a puppy through the West Wing, under the White House, and into this new territory. I pulled myself up the stairs by the railings (ouch, ow, ouch), and wondered if my cheery demeanor was effectively disguising my discomfort. We turned the corner into the buzz of the East Wing, passed a few doors and a staffer on her cell phone, and ended up at our destination. After a few minutes our work was done, and as I braced myself for the hike back to our office where I could take off my shoes under the desk in the hopes of rapid healing, I felt a tap on my shoulder. The same staffer who had been chattering orders into a phone was now holding out a handful of bandaids. Her sympathetic and kind look almost brought me to tears. I whispered a thank you and ducked into a restroom to bandage my destroyed feet.

A picture of me in the offending shoes

I'm a firm believer that we end up where we are meant to be, but sometimes it's easy to feel overcome with imposter syndrome. On day four, I knew that I wanted to work my hardest in this new role and I was terrified to come across as anything less than prepared, professional, and perfect. That staffer acknowledged my imperfection - but she didn't make me feel small. She understood my nervousness and my desire to impress, and she responded with kindness. That gesture (which she has probably long forgotten) continues to make an impression on me every time I remember it.

Two weeks ago, I began a new job. As with all beginnings, I felt nervous to fill the expectations that this team had for me. A few days in, we went out to lunch to celebrate the birthdays of a few girls in our department. The chosen restaurant was a pizza place, and I was perfectly ready to snack on salads and brussel sprouts due to my wheat allergy. However, when the waitress came to take our order, our boss looked at the menu and said, "Wait, they have gluten-free crust. Let's get two of the pizzas gluten free for Jane!"

I don't know if I'm just mushy from the move, the transition, or my exhaustion after uprooting and unpacking, but that action made such an impact on me. These new coworkers remembered my wheat allergy and then sacrificed the far superior taste of normal pizza crust for the gluten-free concoction. I was able to eat (bomb) pizza, but more importantly I felt welcomed.

It's so easy to cast aside the importance of thoughtfulness, especially because so many of us are preoccupied with our own issues and desires. I won't soon forget the kindness of my coworkers, or the actions of that staffer in the hallway. Little things can make a big difference.