A Year of Giving

Writing everyday on My Dear Trash is an adventure to find value in something, whether it is a garage sale/thrift store find, a good book, an idea and even myself.

We live in a throw-away society (not just trash, but relationships too, like through divorce or holding a grudge against someone we once loved), but there can be value in something or someone we may not have seen at first, even our own abilities to accomplish something we maybe didn’t think we could do (like have 5 children and still be somewhat coherent to what’s going in life).

Today I came across an inspiring blog that finds value in everyday experiences and ordinary people. Reed Sandridge is the author of the blog A Year of Giving.

Image found here.

When Sandridge lost his job this last year, he turned to a philosophy his mother taught him; to give away and expect nothing in return.

His mother said: When you're going through tough times, that's when you most need to give back.

Instead of feeling sorry for his un-employed self, he’s done just that. Everyday, for a year, he is giving a $10.00 bill to someone he meets on his life’s path. Currently, he is on day 121.

He blogs about the people he meets and the experiences he has with them. He picks a variety of people to share with: an active duty officer in the military, a book store clerk, a homeless person, a man who stands outside the Vatican’s nunciature to the US protesting against sexual abuse in the church, a sketch artist and so on. He loves when people sit down and really open up. Sandridge finds value in meeting people and learning something new from them. That’s kind’ve a dying art, don’t you think?

Sandridge is calling June 15 a Worldwide Day of Giving, where he's asking everyone who has heard his story or been to his Website to do what he's doing, for just one day: to give $10 to a stranger and then write about their experience on his site.

I believe what goes around comes around. I have the perfect illustration of this concept and it is all because of a barrette.

When I was in New York, I lost my special barrette.

Image found here.

I’d just made it back to my girlfriend’s place, by myself, on the subway with the rats and the scary stinky homeless guy, in 17 degrees, walking past Central Park and up five flights of stairs and I realized, my barrette was missing.

This just wasn’t any barrette. Several years ago for Christmas the counselor gave me a fancy crystal studded barrette he’d seen Drew Barrymore wearing in one of those gossip fashion magazines that I keep around the house. Such a waste of time, I know, but we do love them, don’t we ladies. Anyway, the counselor had seen this cute barrette on Drew and wanted it for me, so he contacted the designer Renee Rivera and for $60.00, he ordered one for me. Christmas morning, 2005, I opened my small gift-wrapped box and there was the barrette and price tag starring back at me. Unable to get past the price, I told the counselor I really didn’t need something this fancy and he shouldn’t spend that type of money on me. My lovely husband is a “What ever you say, Dear,” type of man, so he’s reaction was a bit out of character.

He said, “Why won’t you let me express my love to you?”

Of course, I swallowed my pride and realized it was more important I let my hard working husband indulge in me than worry about grocery money.
So. . . my barrette, I lost my dear “lesson-learned” barrette. That night I tossed and turned in bed in Upper West Harlem and although I was sad, I thought, “My barrette will be my gift to New York. Hopefully some poor over-worked aging woman will find it and wear it and feel pretty again.” I was at peace with it.

The next morning as I rushed down the stairs with my briefcase (I hated carrying a briefcase, mermaids do not carry a briefcase) to catch the subway I stopped on the fourth floor, because low and behold, my barrette was teetering on the stair-rail banister, just so, like someone had seen it on the floor and realized it must belong to someone special and perhaps that person would walk the same path again. I picked up my barrette and started laughing, in a reverent sort of way, and I felt like God was looking out for me. I wrote a note of gratitude on bright yellow paper and left it teetering on the fourth-floor banister.

Now, even more then before, I wanted to leave a gift to New York, so I started my day looking; really looking for someone to serve. Who looked sad, tired, poor or just like they needed a hug? It didn’t take long before I was on the subway and that’s when I found the perfect candidate. While in New York I saw very few mothers out with small children, so when I noticed this mother nursing her baby on the train she caught my attention. She was beautiful, with her hair wrapped in a scarf. Her eyes were closed, allowing the subway to rock her and her baby to their destination. When she reached her exit, she (and about a million other people) walked past me.

I stood up and dropped some money in her diaper bag. She looked surprised and hesitant and didn’t know what to say.

“You have a beautiful baby,” I said and the door was about to close and the woman said “Thank you” with the sweetest look of gratitude. That was my best day in New York. The feeling of service followed me around. and even still, when I wear my Renee Rivera barrette I feel the energy from that experience.

I’m writing on my calendar date June 15^th a Worldwide Day of Giving and hope you will too. If you write a story up for Sandridge’s site, please send it over to My Dear Trash as well and we’ll have a day to share our experiences with each other.