How to Become the Person You Forgot You Were

 

Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Unsplash

I was seventeen years old. I was in my bedroom yelling at my dad. He was seated on my bed.

I don’t remember the reason.

I do remember I’d been on my tirade for what seemed like a long time. I think I must have paused to let my surefire argument sink in, certain he would give in to whatever it was that I wanted to do which my parents hadn’t agreed with. . .yet.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

My dad uttered that question with all the patience of a bank teller who’s just finished helping a pleasant customer. Now, there was nothing uncharacteristic about my dad’s patience that day. My dad’s in his 70s now and I can truthfully say I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard my dad lose his cool. Ever. Patience, I think, is one of his superpowers.

His question, spoken with such calm, completely knocked me off balance.

My mom had passed away about two and a half years earlier. Suddenly, the two and a half years of bottled up frustration, anger, sadness, and a host of other emotions erupted out of my seventeen year old eyes. My dad — shorter than I — stood up and wrapped his arms around me while I sobbed.

It was, and remains, the most pivotal moment of my life.

Mind you, I wasn’t a teenager who was mixed up with other teenagers who were into doing bad things. I was a kid who had lost his mom, gained a bonus mom, and another brother in a short amount of time. I was a kid who didn’t know how to process the complex emotions I was dealing with.

Teenagers deal with a lot of complex emotions. To a person looking in, my behavior, while unacceptable, would be understandable.

The behavior that accompanied those pent up emotions, however, was not true to who I was then or who I am now. I’ve always been conflict averse. I’ve wanted to be friends with or at least friendly toward everyone.

So, I changed. I learned to deal with my emotions. I was extremely fortunate to be surrounded by some incredible friends many of whom are still my friends thirty years later.

Of course, life marched on. While my temperament hasn’t changed much, I’ve spent a lot of years fighting with some hard emotions related to some difficult relationships. I’ve complained a lot, but rarely — until recently — have I tackled the challenge of dealing with those emotions.

I quit my job. I started two companies, one of them with two of my very best friends. I’ve started making changes to my diet to improve my overall health.

I have some serious ground to recover from where I was even just a year ago. To that end, this is a list of five things I’m doing this year to move forward toward being the person I want to be.

Cut back on processed sugar. My sedentary lifestyle (over the last year) and consuming sugary drinks and foods has lead to rapid weight gain. I’m up 30lbs (~14kg) from where I was just a year ago. Sitting too much + too many sugary snacks = not feeling great. I’ve already begun substituting snacks with short walks and healthier options.

Sleep (a little) more. I‘ve struggled with sleep my whole adult life. Even as a kid, I was often out of bed by 6:00 am. As an adult, I’ve been getting up at 4:00 am (or earlier) every morning for more than two decades. Cutting back on sugar and virtually eliminating caffeine from my diet will help the quality of my sleep, even if the number of hours doesn’t go up that much.

Return to exercise. There’s no shortage of research on the health benefits of regular exercise. I used to identify as a runner. I can, and want to, be that again. I’m also planning to introduce some modest weightlifting to mix things up.

Reduce the purposeless things. This is a trap many of us fall into. Knowledge workers, in particular, often fall prey to the false notion that being busy = being productive. I habitually check my email 30 to 40 times a day. That’s gotta stop.

Cut myself some slack. None of those goals is particularly arduous. Taken together, however, opportunities abound to fumble. So, when I stumble and fall, I’m going to give myself some grace. Even baby steps in the right direction are progress. We celebrate actual steps taken by toddlers with all the excitement of our team winning the Super Bowl. Why not celebrate our own baby-step progress with the same enthusiasm?

Your struggles are probably different than mine. The five things listed above, however, are practical suggestions that can help anyone who finds themselves being different than who they want to be.

That experience with my dad was nearly three decades ago. For sure, life hasn’t gotten any simpler. The thing is, we’re never really stuck. The person I was then — hurt, confused, angry — wasn’t who I wanted to be, so I changed. My dad’s quiet response to my anger was all the motivation I needed to start moving in the right direction.

Whether for days or for years, we all have those times in life when we wake up to the realization that how we’re living doesn’t really line up with who we want to become. Discouragement is easy when there’s a wide gap, but every small step taken in the right direction closes that gap just a little bit more.

Here’s my recommendation (to you and to me): if you feel out of sync with yourself, start with something small, but that represents a significant step foward. Identify just one habit to tackle, one relationship to begin mending, or one goal to work on. I love the thought that progress doesn’t have to be perfect or linear — it just has to be progress.

When you stumble (because we all do), remember to be as patient with yourself as my dad was with me. Change takes time, grace, and even a little bit of stubbornness.

Remember this: with every step forward, you are becoming who you want to be.

Slices of Joy

 

Photo by Ivan Torres on Unsplash

Back in 1995, when I was in high school, my friends and I wore it as a badge of honor when we could consume an entire fourteen inch large pizza alone. In one sitting. For teenage boys who played a lot of basketball, it wasn’t an overwhelming feat. Uncomfortable, not overwhelming.

Back then, I heard an allegory of sorts. I referenced it in my journal a couple of times. What I didn’t do was record any details of the lesson(s) I learned. What follows is my reimagining of the allegory known as “Slices of Joy”.¹ ²

Giovanni and Carmela Napoli were both born in 1886. Like so many of their peers, Giovanni and Carmela grew up working the land. Knowing each other almost from the time they were born, they fell in love in the summer of 1909 and married the following spring. In 1914, whispers of war reached their small village of Alberi, Italy. With almost no money and no other prospects, Giovanni and Carmela left their home for the promise of a greater future in the United States with their young son Giovanni, Jr.

In the mid-1930s, at the height of the Great Depression, that young son, Giovanni “John” Napoli, Jr., was recognized as the guy from just around the corner who had a dream of getting his family out of the squalor they lived in. His father, like so many fathers during the same era, had lost his job years earlier. Alcoholism had taken Giovanni, Sr. in 1932 just days before his 46th birthday. The family often struggled to have enough food to eat and usually went to bed hungry.

John had never set foot in a classroom; the weight of his family’s survival left no room for schooling. Each day, he toiled from dawn to dusk, his hands calloused from odd jobs that barely kept their cupboards from going bare. The clatter of empty plates was a constant reminder of their poverty, but amid the struggle, John discovered solace in an unlikely passion: pizza. Though the dish had been invented in Italy some forty years earlier, John’s version was uniquely his own — a far cry from the thin, simple pies of Naples. His pizzas were hearty, their golden crusts crackling beneath a layer of bubbling cheese and rich tomato sauce. The aroma wafted through the narrow streets, drawing curious neighbors who quickly became loyal customers, happily trading their dimes for a taste of something warm and comforting in a world so often cold.

Before the aromas of John’s pizzas were ever smelled, John had scrimped and saved every penny, dreaming of the day he could make and sell pizzas. As the Great Depression waned, he had finally saved enough to build a small brick oven. With his last $30 — a precious amount of money for his family — he bought ingredients and flat containers for his pizzas. Hot and fresh from the oven, he’d load them onto his bike and pedal through the streets, shouting his offer: ten cents a slice. Whole pizzas were a rare sale, but when they were, he’d note the address to retrieve the container later. (Cardboard boxes didn’t come around until the 1960s.)

It took two years for John to establish his business and another two years to make enough money to open his first store. The store represented a major shift for John. Now, folks came to him, carried the pizzas home for just $0.80, and got $0.05 back when they returned their reusable container which John named the “Pizza Saver.”

Even in the height of the war, within five years of opening his store, John and his family had more money than they had ever seen. They wanted for nothing. Yet, John wasn’t happy. He loved making pizza, but there were always more things to worry about. Having passed through the Great Depression, John never felt like the money was enough. He never felt like he was working enough.

In 1937, John married Leslie Johnson, his high school sweetheart. They quickly started a family, welcoming their first child, William, in 1938, followed by their daughter Rose in 1940. Despite his deep love for Leslie and their children, John found himself increasingly consumed by the demands of his expanding business. Passion for pizza-making had been traded for profits a few years earlier.

Days and nights were spent perfecting new recipes and managing the growing operations. The relentless pursuit of success left little time for family dinners or quiet moments with Leslie, who shouldered all of the household responsibilities without complaint.

One evening, late, John sat in his office arranging the books for the day. There was a small knock on his office door. He looked up and saw a wrinkled old woman standing in his doorway. She didn’t wait to be invited in; she just shuffled her way to one of the chairs opposite John’s desk and sat down.

John, at first, was shocked, but the old woman had a kindly face. Her eyes sparkled, belying her age.

“John,” she said.

John started.

“How do you know my name?” He asked.

“I can read.” She smiled. “Your name is on the door.”

“Oh,” John replied, remembering she was right. He took a long, slow breath and returned her smile, disarmed by the warmth in her voice. Her accent reminded him so much of his Nonna Rosa, the only grandmother he’d ever known. Though Nonna had passed when John was young, he still remembered the sound of her voice and the meticulous way she prepared every meal.

They stared at each other for a moment before the stranger broke the silence.

“John, do you know why there are eight slices in a pizza?” She asked.

“Because it’s hard to cut it into ten equal slices, and one-eighth is just the right size for lunch,” he replied, though he couldn’t help thinking that ten slices at $0.12 each would increase his profits substantially. In fact, just as the old woman walked through his door, he had been working on a design for a blade to cut the pizza into ten equal slices at once.

“No, John,” she replied. She leaned forward in her chair. “There are eight lessons — one for each slice — that you need to learn if you’re going to find real happiness; that’s joy. Joy is happiness that can’t be erased by changes in circumstance.”

She stood with some effort and made her way to a small table that held an open Pizza Saver.

“Your favorite?” She asked without looking back at John.

“Yes.” He replied. She stood with her back to him, examining the pizza.

“Who are you?” John asked.

“You can call me Ethel,” she remarked, picking up a napkin in each hand and then pulling two slices from the box. She walked to John’s desk and extended a slice to him. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until the smell of the pizza reached his nose.

“John, here’s the first lesson: if you put God first in your life, everything else will fall into place.”

John was raised attending a church near his home. They worshiped every Sunday. But, by the time his mother passed, he had stopped attending. He’d taken his family a few times, but didn’t consider himself a religious person.

John took a bite of the pizza then laid it aside on his desk as he studied Ethel’s aged features.

“The first lesson is the most important.” Ethel continued. “But, the next lesson is almost as important: family. Right now, you need to go home. Your wife and children need you.”

Ethel stood, pizza in hand, and walked toward the door. She paused in the doorway and took another bite.

“This is really good.” She said.

“Wait! You told me there were eight lessons. You only gave me two of them.” John observed with a little more urgency than he intended.

Ethel turned back toward John. “Oh, you’ll have to work harder for the other 6 lessons. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

With that, Ethel rounded the corner. The office was quiet and John heard the sound of the door as it opened then closed against the darkening night.

John took another bite of the pizza, pondering Ethel’s words. She was right, but her advice left him feeling confused. Puzzled, he left his briefcase on the desk and walked pensively toward home, finishing the slice as he went.

Ten minutes later, John approached the front of his house. A solitary light glowed inside, casting Leslie’s silhouette against the living room curtains. She sat in her favorite chair, absorbed in a book — her escape from the hectic world John navigated daily. While John rarely found time for leisure reading, Leslie had devoured more books than anyone he had ever known.

Leslie jumped slightly as John entered from the kitchen. It was unusual for him to return home before midnight. He crossed the room swiftly and gently lifted her from her chair, wrapping his arms around her, then gave her a long, slow kiss.

“What was that for?” Leslie asked, leaning her head on John’s shoulder.

John was caught off guard at the sudden lump in his throat. “It’s a ‘thank you’,” John replied.

She pushed away. “A ‘thank you’ for what?” she asked.

He kissed her again. “For everything.”

John took Leslie by the hand and made his way into the kitchen. He pulled a chair from the table and invited Leslie to sit. He rolled up his sleeves and started doing the dishes, something he hadn’t done in years.

After enjoying some quite moments together, John and Leslie retired earlier than usual, and John was surprised to see the sun had already risen when he woke.

His steps felt lighter on his way to work. He continued to reflect on his brief conversation with the mysterious Ethel the night before, and as evening approached, John sat, relaxing in his office with his hands clasped behind his head. Not focused on anything, he was startled when Ethel appeared in the doorway.

As she did the night before, Ethel picked up two napkins and two slices of pizza. She lowered herself into the chair opposite John’s desk after handing him the pizza.

“How was your evening last night?” Ethel asked.

“It was good. I took your advice, and went home.” John said between bites. “Really good.” He commented, more to himself than to Ethel.

Ethel chewed the bite she’d just taken slowly.

“You know, John. You’ve built quite the business here. How many people work here now?”

“There are eight locations in the city now. Each one has six employees, plus the five who help me run the business from here. So, fifty-four including me.” John replied.

“Do you know all their names?” Ethel asked taking another bite of the pizza.

John stopped short of taking another bite of the slice in his hand. His brow furrowed. He slowly lowered the pizza to his desk.

“No. I suppose I don’t.” John replied.

“Outside of work, who are your friends?” Ethel questioned.

Again, John sat thinking. He was so busy with his job that he rarely engaged in social activities.

“Maybe you should go meet your employees. And, maybe it’s time to call your friend Edward. It has been a while.”

John was even more surprised than the night before when Ethel had appeared for the first time.

“How do you know about Edward? We haven’t spoken in years.”

John reflected. Edward was an old friend and had been key in John’s early success. Edward owned a bakery that had made all of John’s pizza dough until he had his own mixing equipment.

“Huh.” Ethel stated with the same smile she’d departed with the night before. “Lesson number three: friends. Life has a way of keeping us busy, but true friends — they’re like garden paths. If you don’t walk them often, the weeds take over, making them hard to find, but they’re always there. Take the time to tend them, and you’ll always have a place to go.”

She didn’t say anything else. She simply wiped her aged hands with the napkin, stood, and left the office.

“I will see you again tomorrow.” Ethel said, turning her head just as she passed through the doorway.

John sat musing on the situation then picked up the phone to call Ed.

“Ed? Hey, it’s John Napoli. How have you been?”

John’s conversation with Ed from the previous night left him shaken, and had come to mind a dozen times throughout the hectic next day.

John dropped into his office chair, leaned back, and closed his eyes. He knew he needed to get home, but there was so much to do.

“Good evening, John.”

John bolted upright in his chair. Ethel was standing in the doorway holding a small purse and smiling like she’d just received the best present ever.

“What?” John asked somewhat sheepishly. He hated it when people caught him napping at his desk, but there was something about Ethel’s warmth that put him at ease.

“How was your conversation with Ed last night?” Ethel asked as she once again made her way to the pizza table. Out came two slices on two napkins. John reclined again slightly as Ethel handed him the slice which he took without much thought.

John’s brow furrowed a bit.

“Not great. I mean, it was good to talk to Ed, but his wife passed away last year and I didn’t show up for the funeral.”

“I’m sorry.” Ethel offered in a way that told John she meant it.

“Ed was there when both my parents passed and when I got married. He was the best friend a guy could ask for.”

“Sounds like that garden path could use some tending.” Ethel offered.

“We’re going out for drinks next week. He met someone. I can’t imagine Ed with anyone but Jeanie, but he seems happy.”

“That’s wonderful!” Ethel exclaimed. Only moments earlier, she’d settled into the chair across from John, but was now rising slowly.

“God, family, and friends. Those are three groups that will always be there for you. I’ll see you again tomorrow.” Ethel offered as she once again shuffled out the door.

“Lesson four tomorrow.” She called from the hallway.

John was tempted to follow the old woman just to see how far she had to travel to make these nightly visits to his office. Instead, he slowly finished his slice of pizza, packed his briefcase, put on his hat, and wandered out into the warm autumn evening.

It was Friday, and before John knew it, Ethel was once again in his office doorway.

“Where are you from?” John asked as the old woman walked to the table to retrieve two slices of pizza exactly as she’d done the previous few nights.

“I’m from all over, but these days I’m mostly from two blocks over by Talmey’s Cleaners.”

John knew the place well. Michael Talmey was only a few years older than he was. Michael had been running Talmey’s since his father and mother decided to return to the old country.

“That’s not a great part of town for…” John hesitated, about to say “for an old woman,” but instead finished, “…for a single woman to live.”

“Michel and his boys watch out for me. His oldest son Theo is one tough cookie.”

“A tough cookie? Sounds like something my grandmother used to bake.” John smiled, now comfortable with Ethel’s presence in his office.

“Ethel, can I ask you something? Why do you keep coming here?”

“I like pizza, I like the company, and when I come here I can have both.”

There was her warm smile again.

“What’s your last name?” John asked. His curiosity about this woman continued to increase with each visit.

“Whitaker.” She offered, settling once again into the chair which that evening seemed to swallow up more of her diminutive frame than the previous nights.

“I’m not as young as I used to be.” John barely caught her comment. “John, how’s Leslie’s father doing these days?”

Leslie’s father Arthur is someone that John admired a great deal. Arthur had navigated the depression better than anyone John knew, and had used his wealth and connections to care for hundreds of people. As the economy improved with the years, Arthur grew his textile mills from one to two to three. Now, after more than 30 years in the business, Arthur was the CEO of a textile company with thousands of employees and seven factories.

John and Arthur had a mutual admiration — something that made Leslie so happy, seeing that her husband and father were such good friends.

“He’s doing really well. His business is doing as well as any business I can imagine. He’s been talking about retiring and doing some travel.” John replied.

“He’s healthy then?” Ethel asked.

“As far as I know. The man doesn’t touch alcohol, and you can still find him in the mills moving heavy rolls with his employees. He’s built like an ox.”

“The fourth lesson has a huge impact on how you can focus on the first three. Without health, it’s hard to be there when God, family, and friends need you. Don’t neglect your health.” Ethel observed, sounding so much like Nonna Rosa again.

Once again, without another word, Ethel was out the door.

John organized the papers on his desk and left a note for his secretary that he’d be out of the office until Monday which was unusual for John who almost always stopped in on Saturday and Sunday to see how things were going. When Ethel asked about Leslie’s father, he’d made the decision that he would take Leslie and the kids to see her father on Sunday morning.

John woke Saturday morning to the sound of Rose’s laughter echoing down the hall. For the first time in a long time — even on a weekend — he hadn’t left the house before sunrise. The smell of bacon drifted in from the kitchen, mingling with the faint crackle of eggs frying in the skillet. Even from their room, John could hear Leslie humming, her voice punctuated by William’s questions about the comic book he was reading.

John got up and walked to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to observe the scene in front of him. Leslie’s dark hair was tied back, her apron dusted with flour, and Rose sat at the table, her legs swinging as she waited for breakfast. William, engrossed in his comic, barely noticed when Rose sneaked a sip of his orange juice.

“Good morning,” John said, stepping into the room. Leslie turned, startled but smiling.

“You’re home!” Rose shouted, jumping from her chair to hug him.

“I am,” John replied, scooping her up. “And I’m staying all day.”

Leslie arched an eyebrow but remained quiet, her smile softening as she returned to the stove.

John spent the morning alternately playing with Rose and talking to William about the latest adventures of his comic book heroes.

That afternoon, John suggested a walk to the park. They packed sandwiches and a thermos of lemonade, to the children’s delight. William raced ahead with his sister while John and Leslie strolled at a leisurely pace. The autumn afternoon was warm, but pleasant, and the leaves rustled with the light breeze that took the edge off the heat.

“Ethel stopped by again last night,” John commented, breaking the comfortable silence.

Leslie glanced at him. “What was the lesson this time?”

“Health,” he noted thoughtfully. “It was a pointed lesson. She asked about your father. I really admire him.”

Leslie knew that, but it warmed her heart anytime John spoke fondly of her family, especially since John and her brother didn’t always get along.

“Dad’s always made time for what matters most.”

They reached the park and found a bench near the playground. John watched his children climb and swing, their laughter rising into the afternoon air. For the first time in what felt like years, he wasn’t thinking about the store or the books or the next batch of dough. He was here, now, with his family.

Rose fell asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow that night. William stayed up talking to his parents for a few minutes before excusing himself, clearly exhausted from the activities of the day.

Leslie was seated in her favorite chair with a book perched on her knee when John walked over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?” Leslie asked, tilting her head up to look into John’s eyes.

“For being patient with me. For being here, even when I wasn’t.”

Leslie smiled, stood up, and kissed him. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

John grabbed the newspaper and sat on the sofa opposite Leslie. She turned her attention to her book, unaware that John was watching her with the glisten of tears in his eyes.

Monday morning, John admitted to himself that it had been a wonderful weekend but that he felt a little behind. Before that thought settled too deeply in his mind, he pushed it aside, remembering instead the wonderful days he’d spent with his family.

One of the stoves had broken down over the weekend at one of John’s stores, so he spent the day with the repairman overseeing the repair work. Evening came faster than John expected. His assistant left the steaming hot pizza on his pizza table and left the room moments before Ethel appeared. It had only been a few days but John looked forward to the old woman’s visit.

“How was your weekend?” Ethel asked before opening the top to the pizza saver. She took a long, slow breath in through her nose, savoring the smell of the freshly baked pizza.

“Wonderful.” John practically beamed. “Leslie and I spent Saturday with the kids at the park. William opened up and talked to me like he hasn’t in years. Rose was so excited. Sunday, we went to see Leslie’s dad. Such a good man! He’s getting ready to sell all his interest in his company and retire. His buyer seems a lot like him. Arthur had the man over for Sunday brunch and Arthur was actually quizzing him on the names of key employees at each factory. Amazing!”

“Such a good weekend.” John let the words drift out, settling back into his office chair while small wisps of steam rose from the pizza Ethel had placed in front of him.

“It seems you’ve already learned lesson number five: presence. It sounds like you were more present with your family than you’ve been in a long time.

“How did it feel?” Ethel paused and took a bite of her pizza.

John leaned back in his chair, the words tumbling out before he could even think. “It felt… like I’ve been asleep, Ethel. Like I’ve been living my life one step removed from everything that matters. This weekend, it was like I finally woke up. The laughter, the conversations, even the quiet moments — they felt so real, so alive. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed.”

Ethel nodded, her eyes twinkling as she savored another bite of pizza. “It’s funny, isn’t it? The things we think are so urgent — work, problems, making ends meet — they can dull the colors of life if we let them. But when you show up, truly show up, the world has a way of sharpening itself, doesn’t it?”

John smiled, thinking about Rose’s giggles as she chased her brother through the park, Leslie’s hand in his as they walked, and the quiet pride in Arthur’s voice as he talked about his employees. “Yeah,” John agreed. “It does.”

They settled once again into a comfortable silence as they ate. Then John spoke up. “That pie was baked in the newly repaired oven at the Millet Street store. Best pie to come out of that location in a while. The oven had been needing attention for a long time,” John added, noticing the look of satisfaction on Ethel’s face.

Ethel hadn’t stayed this long yet. How curious, John thought, that a total stranger who had wandered into his office only a few nights earlier was now a welcome guest.

“Ethel.” John began. “When you’re not visiting my office, what do you do with your time?”

“I work at the food pantry on Mercer St.”

“At your age?” John blurted out before he could stop himself. He immediately felt his face change several colors of red.

Ethel laughed. “Yes, even at my advanced age. It’s good exercise for me to walk there and help out for a few hours every day.”

“You walk?” John was still having a hard time masking his surprise. “It must be almost two miles from Talmey’s to the shelter. You walk?” He repeated.

“I’m old, but my legs work just fine.” Ethel offered not the least bit irritated. In fact, her warm smile was accompanied by a playful twinkle in her eye. “Besides, Tom Cunningham, who runs the place, is about my age. He’s a widower, and is quite the looker!”

Now it was John who laughed out loud. Ethel joined in the laughter, and John was soon laughing so hard that his assistant poked his head into the office to see what all the commotion was about.

“You okay boss?” David asked.

David had been John’s assistant for about five years. He was younger than John and was married with three children. The youngest, Samantha, had some health problems that kept David and his wife Anna busy most of the time.

John wiped his eyes, calming his laughter. “Everything’s fine. Ethel’s quite the comedian.”

David nodded and walked back to his desk at the end of the hall.

“David’s a good man.” Ethel remarked, speaking like she knew who he was.

“Absolutely!” John responded. “He’s worked for us since our first store opened as a delivery boy. We’ve seen him grow up, get married, and start his family. They work so hard for their girls, especially the youngest. Doctors can’t tell them what’s wrong with Samantha. She’s always sick.”

Ethel eyed the pizza saver.

“Have another slice.” John offered. “It really is the best pie I’ve had in a while, and we make good pizza.”

Ethel lifted herself from her chair and shuffled to the table where the pizza saver stood. John had a hard time believing this seemingly frail woman could walk almost four miles every day to the food pantry.

“Your next lesson is about service.” She wiped her hands on her napkin and looked at him intently. “Service isn’t just about grand gestures or charity drives. It’s about noticing the small struggles of the people around you and stepping in to help. Sometimes, the ones who need you most are right under your nose.”

John tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Ethel leaned forward, her hands clasped on the table. “David and Anna. They’ve been trying so hard to keep things together. You see it, don’t you? The long hours David puts in here, the way he’s been distracted lately?”

John frowned, thinking back to the way David had hurried out of the office the past few days, his shoulders tight with stress. “I’ve noticed,” he admitted. “But I didn’t think it was my place to ask.”

“It’s always your place to care,” Ethel said gently. “David doesn’t just work for you — he’s part of the world you’ve built here. And Anna? She’s at home, trying to do her best for their family, but she could use a little help. Maybe Leslie could reach out, find a way to lighten her load.”

John sat back, Ethel’s words sparking something deep within him. “I never thought about service that way.” His voice took on a tone of quiet reverence that surprised him.

“It’s not about big gestures, John,” Ethel added with a smile. “It’s about showing up for people when they need you most — even if they’re too proud to ask.”

Ethel nodded toward John then turned and left the room.

John waited five minutes. He could hear David at his desk, putting things away at the end of the day.

John got up from his desk, grabbed the pizza saver, and made his way to David’s desk. He walked up to David, lifted the lid, and extended the box toward him.

“Can we talk?”

Thirty minutes later, and a quick call to Leslie, it was decided that John and Leslie would take their kids and stay with David’s children for a few days while David and Anna took a much needed weekend away.

The next evening, John dropped into his office chair. He was exhausted and his clothes smelled like smoke. Faulty wiring at the Glossinger Street store caused a fire behind the oven. John had raced over there, arriving at the same time as the fire department. Without hesitation, he rushed into the store to make sure the employees and patrons were safely outside. Smoke billowed from behind the oven as firefighters pushed their way past John to douse the flames.

Thankfully, no one was hurt, and the flames had done relatively little damage, but the smoke damage was another story entirely. The store would be closed for several weeks while repairs were carried out. In the meantime, the employees were given two days leave with pay and reassigned to other stores until repairs were completed.

David appeared in the doorway with the usual pizza saver box in his hands. He hesitated, looking toward John, before setting the box on the table alongside the stack of napkins.

“John,” David started. “I want to thank you and Leslie for taking the kids. Anna cried when I told her last night that we were getting away for a couple of days. We haven’t been away from the kids since Samantha was born six years ago.”

John could see the tears welling up in his friend’s eyes.

“That pizza had better be hot and fresh.” John offered with a smile, knowing that David wasn’t looking to break down in front of him. David smiled back at John, turned, and left the room.

At this point, John expected Ethel to appear any minute, but as the minutes turned into hours, he saw that it was getting late. He packed his briefcase, tucked the pizza saver under his arm, and walked toward the door.

The warm air outside had a cleansing effect on John. He tipped his head toward the sky and inhaled deeply. He stood motionless, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for Leslie’s willingness to help with David and Anna’s kids.

“Good evening, John.” He didn’t have to open his eyes to know it was Ethel who’d spoken. Still, he tipped his head back down and looked into the care-worn gaze of the elderly woman.

“Evening Ethel,” John returned. “I was beginning to wonder if you were coming.”

“Things ran a bit long at the food pantry today, but somehow I knew I’d find you out here. Besides, you still smell like smoke and my lungs are sensitive.”

She had the same wry smile that had made him laugh so hard earlier that week.

Tonight, he was too tired to laugh, but smiled broadly at her.

“Walk with me?” John asked. “I’m headed your direction.”

In one, fluid motion, Ethel grabbed John’s briefcase out of his hand and tucked her left arm around his right.

“I’d love to.” She quipped with a slight chuckle.

The sun was only beginning to dip below the horizon and people continued to hustle and bustle along the street. John and Ethel walked in silence until they reached the corner.

“John, there are only two lessons left, and I think you understand number seven very well. It’s hard work. You know there’s hard, productive work and hard, busy work. How often do you busy yourself with things that aren’t important, keeping you from things that are?”

John could think of three instances that day where he’d helped an employee with something when a supervisor could easily have done it. While he didn’t know all his employees personally, he maintained an open door policy for anyone who wanted to talk. More often than he cared to admit, it led to him solving things for others that they could have solved themselves. Learned helplessness was the term Arthur used.

“It happens,” John responded.

“There’s no question you know how to work hard. The challenge is to direct that hard work to things that need your attention. Then, you let others take care of the rest.”

Before John knew it, they were standing outside Talmey’s. The walk and idle chatter with Ethel was so pleasant that he wasn’t paying any attention to where they were going.

John stooped and gave Ethel a quick embrace.

“Thank you. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“Yes,” Ethel responded. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

John walked home pensively, bathed, and climbed into bed after giving Leslie a quick kiss and explanation of his day.

The next evening, John sat in his office, the usual pizza saver box untouched on the table. The workday had been smooth, but his thoughts kept returning to the lessons Ethel had shared. He wondered what tonight’s lesson would be. When Ethel finally appeared in the doorway, her steps a little slower than usual, John stood and met her in the doorway to greet her.

“You’ve been expecting me,” Ethel observed with a smile, setting her handbag on the chair across the desk from John’s worn leather chair.

“Lately, I always do,” John replied, moving her handbag to his desk and motioning for her to sit down.

Ethel sat while John opened the pizza saver box, the aroma of the fresh pizza filling the room. He offered her a slice then took one for himself.

“Tonight’s lesson is the last one,” she began, her voice softer than usual. “You’ve learned so much over these past days — about God, family, friends, health, presence, service, and hard work. But there’s one thing that ties it all together.”

John leaned forward, waiting.

“Gratitude,” Ethel stated simply. “Gratitude isn’t just saying thank you. It’s living a life that honors the people, moments, and blessings that make your life meaningful.”

John sat back, letting her words sink in. “I am grateful, Ethel,” he agreed earnestly. “I’ve felt it more than ever these past days. For Leslie, the kids, David… even you.”

Ethel smiled warmly. “And how do you show it? Gratitude is an action. It’s in the way you nurture the seeds you’ve planted. The way you care for the people in your life. Even in the way you build your company.”

John thought of the people who had helped him build his business, the employees who relied on him, and the family he loved. He nodded. “I’ve spent so much time building something for my family, but not enough time building something with them.”

Ethel leaned forward, extending a hand to John. He reached out and took her small hand in his. “It’s not too late. Gratitude is also about legacy. It’s about leaving something behind — not just a business, but a life filled with meaning and love for the people who come after you.”

John’s throat tightened. He thought of his father who had worked hard but died before he could see his family’s future flourish. “How do I start?” he asked quietly.

Ethel’s eyes sparkled. “You already have. But keep at it, one slice at a time.”

Ethel didn’t say any more for several minutes. John sat lost in his own thoughts.

Finally, Ethel spoke, “I’m tired, John. Will you walk me home?”

Without hesitation, John was out of his chair and placing his hat on his head. He gently helped Ethel stand up where she paused before taking a step.

Their walk home was slower than the previous night. Ethel didn’t say much, mostly she talked about the grandchildren she hadn’t seen in years because they lived so far away, and her husband — it was the first time she’d mentioned him. They had been married almost 50 years when he died suddenly of an undiagnosed illness.

For reasons John couldn’t quite explain, his heart was heavy when they stopped in front of Ethel’s little home a few doors from Talmey’s. He bent down and kissed the old woman on the cheek then wrapped his arms around her tiny frame.

The words choked in John’s voice. “Ethel, you’ve changed my life. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Your company is thanks enough. Would you mind coming in and making me some tea?” Ethel’s voice was weak, but there was still a sparkle in her eye.

“Of course I’ll make you some tea.”

John followed Ethel into her small home. It was modest and warm with shelves lined with photographs in simple wooden frames. A faded portrait of a younger Ethel and someone John guessed was her husband rested on the mantel, and a pair of well-worn armchairs flanked a fireplace. The room smelled like lavender, and the air was still, though not stuffy, as if the house itself waited to embrace its occupant at the end of the day.

Ethel motioned to the kitchen, and John searched the meticulously organized cupboards until he found the kettle. He filled it with water and set it on the stove, glancing around the cozy space. The counters were clean. It felt like stepping into a time capsule of quiet, deliberate living.

While the water heated, John joined Ethel in the living room. She had settled into one of the armchairs, a quilt draped over her knees. For the first time, she looked truly tired. John hesitated before sitting across from her.

“Ethel,” he began softly, “are you all right?”

She nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the photo. “I’m fine, John. Just… reflecting. You remind me of him, you know. My George.”

John followed her gaze. “Your husband?”

Ethel smiled faintly. “He worked hard, just like you. Built a good life for us. But what I loved most about him was his heart. No matter how tired he was, he always found time to sit with me, to laugh, to really be with me.”

The kettle whistled, and John rose quickly to prepare the tea. When he returned, Ethel took the cup with trembling hands. She sipped it slowly, savoring the warmth.

“You’ve got everything you need now,” she instructed after a long silence. “The lessons, the love of your family, the respect of your friends. The only thing left is what you do with it.”

John leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “What do you mean?”

Ethel set the teacup down carefully. “Your legacy. What will people remember about you when you’re gone? The money you made? The pizza you baked? Or the way you made them feel? That’s the mark you leave behind. That’s the true gift of gratitude.”

John fought back tears for the third time that evening. He thought of Leslie, of Rose and William, of David and Anna. He thought of the employees in his stores, the neighbors who passed him on the street. He’d spent his life working so hard to escape the poverty of his childhood. Now, for perhaps the first time, he was seeing his life in a new way. He’d connected with a complete stranger in a remarkable way, and now saw the individuals around him as people he loved, whom he could lift and serve.

“You’ve given me so much, Ethel,” he said, his voice strained with emotion. “I don’t think I can ever repay you.”

Ethel reached across and placed her hand over his. Her touch was light, but it carried a weight that stilled him. “You already have,” she whispered. “Now go home, John. Go home to your family. Live your life fully, with gratitude in every step.”

John didn’t want to leave. He felt as though if he walked out the door, he might never see her again. But something in her gaze told him it was time.

He stood, pausing at the doorway. “Ethel… can I come see you tomorrow?”

She smiled softly, the kind of smile that didn’t need words. “Goodnight, John.”

John returned to Ethel’s home the next morning, a bouquet of flowers in hand. He knocked and waited then knocked again, but there was no answer. A sense of unease gripped him as he tried the door, which creaked open at his touch.

The house was quiet. He found her sitting in her chair by the fireplace, her quilt still draped over her knees, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her expression was peaceful, as though she had simply drifted off to sleep.

Tears filled John’s eyes as he stepped closer. On the small table beside her chair was a single note, addressed to him.

Dear John,
Thank you for sharing your journey with me. You have everything you need to make a life worth living — a life of joy, of love, of gratitude. Keep going, one slice at a time.
With all my heart,
Ethel

John phoned the hospital, uncertain how to reach her children, then sat with her until they came to take her away. He held the note clutched in his hand the whole time. When the house was empty, he eventually stood, his heart heavy but full. He left quietly, laying the bouquet on the chair where Ethel died.

Years passed. William and Rose both married and left home to start families of their own.

John never forgot the lessons he learned from Ethel. One evening, John returned home. When he entered the room, he felt as though he were looking back in time. Leslie was reading in her chair. William and Rose were both home for the holidays with their spouses and children. Rose was seated on the floor next to her daughter. They were coloring in one of the coloring books Rose had as a child. William was stretched out on the floor, his adult frame almost spanning the room with his son stretched out next to him. They were reading one of William’s favorite comic books.

He didn’t say a word. He just walked over, knelt beside Leslie, and hugged her tightly.

“John?” she asked, startled.

“I’m just grateful,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “For you. For all of this.”

Leslie smiled, holding his face in her hands. “We’re grateful for you, too.”

And as John sat with his family, the sound of their laughter filling the room, he felt the truth of Ethel’s final lesson: gratitude wasn’t just about what you said. It was about how you lived.

One slice at a time.