The Small Things

As you read this, my dad and I are probably somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean making our way home after spending the past week together in London, a city that has become one of our favorite places to visit and one that has provided us with some incredible memories over the years.

Whenever people ask about these trips, they usually assume the highlight is the theater, and to be fair, we have been fortunate enough to see some extraordinary productions together. There is something magical about sitting in a London theater, watching world-class performers bring stories to life, and then spending the next few hours talking about what we loved, what surprised us, and which performers stole the show.

As much as I love all of that, I have come to realize that the shows themselves are no longer my favorite part of the trip.

The older I get, the more I appreciate the simple fact that my dad and I still carve out this time together each year. In a world where schedules are packed, calendars are full, and life seems to move a little faster with each passing year, spending an uninterrupted week together has become something I cherish more than I probably did when these trips first began.

A few days before we left for London, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table writing a stack of thank-you cards.

Not one card, not two cards…fifteen!

My plan was to hand them to the crew on our overnight flight to London along with a note explaining that there was a card for each member of the team.

As I was writing them, it occurred to me that most people would probably think it was a little unusual. After all, I didn’t know any of the flight attendants. I had never met them before, and chances are I will never see most of them again. Yet there I was, writing card after card because I couldn’t stop thinking about how often people in service professions hear complaints and how rarely they hear genuine appreciation.

The truth is that most of us are pretty good at noticing when something goes wrong.

If a flight is delayed, we notice. If a hotel room isn’t ready, we notice. If a meal arrives cold, we notice. When something doesn’t meet our expectations, we have no problem speaking up. What fascinates me is how often we fail to speak up when things go right.

Last year, when I stayed at the hotel where my dad and I spent this week, I had a wonderful experience and made a point of thanking the manager. It wasn’t a lengthy conversation, and I certainly wasn’t looking for anything in return. I simply wanted to acknowledge the effort that had gone into creating such a memorable stay.

When I returned home, I sent a note. A few months later, I sent another.

Over the course of the year, I continued to reach out from time to time with a simple message of appreciation, not because I had an agenda, but because I genuinely meant it.

As this trip approached, the hotel reached out to let us know how excited they were to welcome us back.

I have thought about that exchange quite a bit this week because it serves as a reminder of something I have observed throughout my career, throughout my friendships, and throughout many of the most meaningful relationships in my life.

Small gestures have a way of creating outcomes that are far larger than the effort required to make them.

A handwritten note takes five minutes. A thank-you card might take two. A quick email expressing appreciation may take less than sixty seconds. Yet those simple gestures often leave a lasting impression because so few people take the time to make them.

One of the greatest lessons fundraising has taught me is that relationships are rarely built during the big moments. They are built during the countless small moments that occur in between. They are built through phone calls that didn’t need to be made, notes that didn’t need to be written, and conversations that weren’t designed to accomplish anything other than letting another person know they matter.

The same principle applies far beyond fundraising. It applies to friendships, marriages, and family relationships. It applies to complete strangers whose paths happen to cross our own for a brief moment.

As I sat on that plane this week and thought about the crew members who would receive those cards, I wasn’t really thinking about flight attendants at all. I was thinking about how desperately our world needs more appreciation and how much of a difference it can make when someone feels seen, valued, and acknowledged.

I was also thinking about my dad.

I was thinking about how fortunate I am that we still take these trips together and how aware I have become that opportunities like this should never be taken for granted.

One day there will be a last trip. One day there will be a last show. One day there will be a final conversation about a performance as we walk back through the streets of London after the curtain comes down.

None of us knows when those moments will arrive, which is precisely why I have become so convinced that the small things matter.

The thank-you note matters, the kind word matters, the message of appreciation matters, and the week spent with someone you love matters.

Because when I look back on this trip years from now, I suspect I won’t remember every show we saw or every meal we ate. What I will remember is the feeling of spending another week with my dad, sharing experiences, creating memories, and being reminded once again that some of the most meaningful parts of life are also the simplest.

The small things rarely feel small when we look back on them.

In fact, they often turn out to be the things that matter most.