Most of my time is spent immersed in one of two distinctly different environments.  Either I am in front of hundreds of people who expect me to enlighten and entertain them, or I am alone.  The latter state is far more common and often occurs in locations far from home, in places where I am a stranger.  It is in this environment where I engage in the deepest of contemplation, left to the solitude of my own mind.  Many times my thoughts gravitate to ideas that are hard for me to express in writing.  This blog is an attempt to capture one such occasion.

After speaking at an event in San Diego recently, I walked from my hotel to Eddie V’s restaurant for dinner.  I like Eddie V’s for many reasons, not the least of which is the live jazz in the bar.  As I made the one mile walk, I passed many people without homes.  It struck me how these individuals had created their personal space amongst the tourists, joggers, vendors, and business people all bustling about.  No one seemed to notice them.  They had become as nondescript as the structures and the trees; as taken for granted as the weather and the bay that surrounded them.  In fact, they were probably more invisible.  I felt a deep sorrow and a discomfort that I was an accomplice to this apathy.  The volume of the homeless population only added to my melancholy

When I arrived at the restaurant, I completed my normal routine of calling my lovely bride, ordering my dinner, and turning my attention to the band.  It is part of my tradition to drop a tip in the jar and request “Song for My Father,” the classic Horace Silver jazz tune, to honor my Dad who passed a decade ago.  As the band enthusiastically performed the song, and many others that night, I again became aware that very few patrons were paying any attention to their efforts.  I took it upon myself to applaud after each song, which recruited a few others to do the same, if only out of a Pavlovian like response.  The band was essentially playing music for themselves in the presence of others.  Again, I experienced a sense of sadness with the situation.

When I left Eddie V’s, I came across a gentleman on the street (literally), and our eyes met.  My mind was conflicted.  My instinct was to move past quickly.  It was not an instinct of which I was proud and one that I have rationalized away many times as self-protection.  But this time I stopped.  He asked me my name.  I asked him his name.  We talked briefly and I slipped him $20.00.  While I am certain that he appreciated the money, I walked away with a greater sense that it was the acknowledgement that was more valuable.  He can be seen. He existed.  He is.

As I continued my walk, I pondered that concept.  We all crave acknowledgement.  We all want to be special, to be noticed for being an individual.  Regardless of what inspires, drives, and motivates us; we all need to feel like we matter.  We don’t have to accomplish great things, but we do have to matter.  In my opinion, the most profoundly sad condition that a human being can experience is that we no longer matter, that we have become inconsequential.

Great leaders have a knack for making others feel like they matter.  They acknowledge the contributions of all those around them.  Today, at least, notice people.  Make eye contact with strangers.  Smile.  Let others know that they are important even if it is just for a moment.  Appreciate them for being.  Let them know they matter.  Tip the band.