Small Promises
For many years after I graduated from film school, I lived a rudderless life in New York, bouncing from job to job as a temp secretary by day and working on writing exercises at night. My only socializing was with my dog and whatever neighbors I happened to pass in the stairwell. I couldn't afford vacations or health insurance, but every so often I'd let myself get sick so I could take a few days off.
One time I had just come down with the flu and was taking my dog out for a walk when I met my neighbor Jan. A dancer and massage therapist, Jan was a playful, childlike man who always lifted my spirits.
Jan expressed empathy for my being sick, and said he'd check up on me later that evening. Having expected to weather the illness alone, this was a small miracle. I spent the rest of the day looking forward to Jan's visit and feeling good that I mattered to someone.
But the evening passed without a comforting knock on the door. I knew perfectly well that Jan was very busy; among other things he directed a non-profit organization that brought South American performers to the U.S. Yet I couldn't help feeling wronged. He had raised my hopes, only to dash them. I could've endured the flu without his help. Why did he create a longing for companionship and then not fulfill it?
I spent the next day again looking forward to Jan's visit, sure that he'd arrive—driven by guilt if nothing else. But he didn't.
The next morning my health had returned, and with it my self-sufficiency. That evening Jan stopped by. He apologized for not coming over and explained what had happened, but by then I was on to something else. We stood in our doorways while he fed his cats and we chatted about this and that.
Ever since that happened over a decade ago, I have been an extremist about keeping my word. I attach importance to offhand comments such as, "I'll call you or I'll make you a copy or I'll e-mail you," and I always follow up. It seems odd that this trivial event would have such a profound effect on me. But I guess when your life is empty, even the smallest incident can fill it up.
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