Be Like BESSIE!

Be Like Bessie!

“Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.”―Ralph Waldo Emerson

A few days each week during the winter I work in a giant laboratory studying the behavior of vast numbers of people. My specific areas of interest are the characteristics of patience and kindness while in pursuit of happiness and outdoor adventure. More specifically, I am a greeter at a New England ski area. From this vantage point I have face-to-face contact with hundreds of men, women and children of all ages. The stories my colleagues and I collect could fill a book. (Hey, that’s an idea!)

One of a Greeter’s responsibilities, beyond welcoming guests and answering basic questions, is to be sure each visitor’s wait in the line to purchase lift tickets is as short as possible, hopefully no more that 7-15 minutes on the most crowded days. This is no mean feat in the age of data collection required for the issuance of a re-usable RFID card that can be detected by a scanner in the pocket of even the most high tech parka. We also draw the short straw sometimes and have to facilitate traffic flow in the “drop off” area. If the entire ski area is the laboratory, then this particular area is the active Petri dish. . Maybe we should put up a sign that says, “Remember! Children are watching and listening.”

If I was looking to hire people to build a team for a task that required intense, cooperative effort in a stressful situation, I’d insist on seeing videos of how these job candidates handled their cars, friends, family and Greeters in the “drop off” area. Surely I’d learn more than any resume or interview could reveal.

Since we Greeters spend most of our time managing ticket lines, that’s where the best stories come from. Just the other day a person was in such a hurry to get his ticket that instead of walking through the short, simple, ten-foot, back and forth maze to the ticket window, this “gentleman” ducked under the ropes to take a more direct route, knocking over several stanchions, which he did not fix. He may have saved a full three seconds getting to the ticket window. I just smiled at him sympathetically. You know, one of those smiles that says, “I hope you get better soon.”

We greeters pick up a wonderful assortment of sound bites or snippets from the hundreds of conversations that swirl around us. My all-time favorite came from two brothers, strolling past with their arms on each other’s shoulders. The older brother looked at his younger sibling and said, “Hey, your wife’s happy and your girlfriend’s happy. I think everything is going to be fine.” Then they disappeared into the crowd leaving me with a number of questions that will forever go unanswered.

I’ve been thinking of asking management to position a large video screen in the ticket line waiting area showing highlights of good and bad behavior of guests collected over the course of the winter season. We would obscure the faces to prevent law suits, but the instructional value would be powerful…and highly entertaining.

Most people waiting in line to purchase tickets fall into one of three categories:

Group A. “I am too important to have to wait in line with all of these other people. Can’t you do something?”

Group B. “It’s too bad the wait is so long. Have you considered ways that might make things move more efficiently?”

Group C. “I’m not at work, I’m in a beautiful place and eventually we are going to have a great day on the slopes.”

The hybrid of groups B and C is my personal favorite. By the way, guests can purchase their tickets online at a reduced price and eliminate or greatly shorten their wait in line. It’s a reward for those thoughtful people who plan ahead. Let’s call this Group S for smart.

So how does this all tie in with BESSIE’S STORY? It’s simple. Bessie is the model of patience. She’ll stand with her nose to a door calmly and peacefully if she wants to go outside. When it’s time for breakfast or dinner Bessie sits like an angel without barking, whining or grumbling. In her dark, fragrant world she somehow just knows that we’re going to do the best we can to take care of her needs. When we are going somewhere in the car she’ll hop in and sit calmly as long as necessary. Very few people can follow her example of poise and good manners. The only time Bessie ever acts or behaves as if she is the most important piece of the puzzle is when someone is playing retrieving games with her. She can be a little antsy during these times, but we understand.

I’ve said it before. The best way to make friends and influence people is to BE LIKE BESSIE. It’s not as easy as it sounds.

“Perpetual optimism is a force multiplier.” Colin Powell

That was quick! One day we were searching for someplace to dive in to escape the heat. Then, without warning, people were dressing in layers and asking the usual, banal questions like, “where did the summer go?”. What is it about most of us that we have so much trouble “being where we are”, accepting uncontrollable circumstances with a smile instead of griping and wishing for something different.

In her thirteenth year, Bessie has become a bit of a bon vivant, relishing what each day offers up with the joy of knowing she’s receiving a gift to be unwrapped with care, but not so gently that it wastes time and spoils the fun. I’ve never seen Bessie’s mood impacted by the temperature, cloud cover, precipitation, or sunshine. Yes, of course, when it’s swelteringly hot she’s as slow as a turtle, and when it’s chilly she’s more animated. But never, ever is our girl less bright-eyed because of the weather.

Optimism is defined as “hopefulness and confidence about the future or the successful outcome of something”. It’s a learned skill and takes conscious practice. Bessie seems to come by her positive disposition naturally, without effort. Oh, if only we could all be so blessed. The other day Bess was stuck in the corner of our garage, not sure which way to turn. How she got there was a mystery, but her slow, careful self-extraction to a more open space was a joy to witness; no frustration or defeatism for her. It took a few minutes while she bumped and sniffed her way to fresh air, but when she found a sunny patch of grass and settled down, she was as content as an airline passenger in economy who finds the middle seat open.

I wonder if Bessie reflected on the experience. Probably not. More likely, in her self-reliant way the old girl just folded 13 years of wisdom and experience into her four white paws and figured it out, like a chess champion. Amazing. For the past seven years Bessie has been living in a dark world brightened by friendly voices, affectionate pats and scratches, and a self-confidence rooted in some deep well of her soul. Bessie’s natural mother was a moody recluse, and her canine father was a no-show. She apparently became the dog she wanted to be, genetics and finger pointing be damned! What a good example for all of us.

I’ve often contemplated what Bessie would be like if she hadn’t gone blind. Did the unforeseen turn of events impact her character and resilience? It’s tempting to think that she contemplated her situation and made some proactive decisions, like a well-informed patient. More likely she responded naturally, guided by her resolute spirit with absolutely no self-pity or regret. In a group therapy session Bessie would be the one yawning and tapping her foot, eager to get on with things before too much more time is spent analyzing, splitting hairs and assigning blame. Not that reflection is pointless, not at all. It leads to wisdom, which is perhaps the most important ingredient for making productive, optimistic use of precious time and moving forward.

For Bessie, that wisdom means putting her life squarely on her shoulders and carrying it up the hill, stopping to eat some green grass and sniff interesting things along the way. The new scientific age calculator for dogs pegs Bessie as being the human equivalent of 72 years old. Surely her joints and muscles radiate nagging discomfort like most septuagenarians, including her owner. So how does she live with such pervasive optimism? Perhaps because she refuses to consider the solemn, sedentary consequences of an alternative approach. I’ll assume that’s the case and continue to embrace her as my life-coach.