“The most precious gift we can give anyone is our attention.” ~ Thach Nhat
Five years ago my son missed a basketball game.
We left the city and by the time we got back the list was already set. However, I made a few phone calls, hoping someone could give the kids a slow shot. One coach said yes. He had one place left and he was willing to take a chance on a name he had never heard of a father he had never met.
That coach became my best friend.
I started to come to practice to help. Then I kept coming back. Five years later, I was still his assistant coach, and somewhere on the street, a basketball court became one of the most meaningful friendships of my adult life. He was forty years old. I am fifty-two years old. He told people that I was like his brother and I did not feel light.
We talk several times a week. About basketball, yes, but also about our children, our fears, what we are proud of, what wakes us up at night and bigger questions that do not have easy answers. We laugh often. We are there for each other. And we have both said more than once that what we have is rare. Not because we agree on everything, but because we see each other. Real stuff. The soul beneath the surface.
Such friendships are harder to find than people to recognize.
That’s why what has happened recently keeps me cool.
He got up for a new job, a role that would be a game changer for him and his family. I know the opportunity is near, but I do not know the time.
When my phone rang the day before, I mentioned the way I always do. We slipped into our normal conversation easily and unhurriedly. Crazy jokes. Updates on children. Talking like this does not require effort, because comfort is already there.
No jokes. There is no final arrangement. There is no mention of anything with high stakes. Just two men do not say anything special on a normal afternoon.
The next day he contacted with an update. And then, almost as a last resort, he said that during our phone call the day before, he was sitting in the waiting room just minutes from walking into his interview.
I sat with it for a moment.
“You did not tell me,” I said. “I did not know you were sitting in the middle of that.”
He laughs the way he does. “I know. I do not want to talk about work. I just want to talk to you. It calms me down. Thank you man.”
I have been thinking about that ever since.
I did not do anything remarkable. I have not trained him all this time or given wisdom about pressure and performance. I am just myself, the only thing I know how to be when we talk. But for him in the waiting room, our normal return is exactly the leg he needs.
He just needs a reminder that the world is outside that office. A world he is already known for. Already liked. Enough. And without the two of us setting it up, that’s what our conversation turned out to be.
I spent years measuring my value with visual objects. The advice I gave someone used. When I say the right thing at the right time and watch something useful happen. We tend to think of the impact in those words, big gestures, practical interventions when we can point and say “I helped”.
But my friend reminded me that presence is kind of its power. Not a great type of phone that just answers.
There was something I learned from five years of watching him coach my son.
The biggest kid under his watch is not always the most talented. They are the ones who feel seen. He has a gift for watching young people and communicating, not to mention it he believes in what already exists.
My son has become the best basketball player in years. But more than that, he has grown into the youth he always wanted to be. And an important part of that is because someone took the opportunity to put his name on a list and then continue to welcome him back.
That’s the thread. Come back. Attention. Be present and attentive without an agenda.
We go through our days as the main characters of our story. We are managing our personal pressures, our timing, our personal concerns. And in doing so, we sometimes forget that we are also the main characters in the stories of the people around us. Although we do not always know which scene we are in for others.
There were days when I felt like I didn’t have much to offer. The road ahead is not clear and I wonder if I am contributing anything of real value.
And then I think of my friend sitting in the waiting room, not wanting to talk about the next time he calls, because a familiar voice is something that can resolve his feelings and remind him to come back to himself.
On the day we feel the smallest, we may be holding something together. We may be calm in a storm that we do not know is happening.
We do not have to do great things. We just need to be present. To answer the phone. Come back to practice the next day. To say yes to a name in one list when another has already changed.
My friend took the opportunity of my son five years ago and in doing so gave us both more than he would ever know. I hope somewhere in our conversation I gave him something back. Even on a day when it feels like nothing more than two people just hanging out and talking.
We really do not know when normal times become what most people need. But we can choose to keep coming back and believing that our presence and attention is enough.
About Daniel H. Shapiro
Dr. Daniel H. Shapiro is the keynote speaker, workshop presenter and facilitator. He is obsessed with human relationships and the things we take with us. For more information on his book The 5 Practices of the Caring Mentor or his mentoring and speaking services, check out: www.yourinherentgoodness.com.
