Putting the 'me' in Thank You

Someone once said, "Saying 'thank you' is more than good manners, it is good spirituality." 

It's pretty much universally agreed that we don't give to receive (or, at least, we shouldn't).  We give because we like to make the people in our lives happy, such as on birthdays or at Christmas, or simply when the mood takes us. 

Sometimes, of course, we do it out of a sense of duty, such as for the wedding of that random second cousin we once met when we were five, but whom in adult life we wouldn't be able to pick out of a line-up, and the only reason we know who she is now is because she's the one up at the front of the church, dressed like a giant meringue.  Not that that's happened to me, you understand...

 

I especially like the idea of giving gifts for no particular reason, such as when you see something you think a friend or family member will get a kick out of.  It may not even be a 'bought' gift.  It could be something as simple as a magazine article you've cut out and sent because it's relevant to them, or maybe emailing the link to a YouTube music video you think they'll enjoy.  

You know, one of those "saw this and thought of you" moments.  And therein lies the importance of the gift:  it's not the item itself, but rather that it made you think of that person.

It feels good to give.  And the reaction we get when the gift 'hits the spot' is almost as sweet.

So what happens, then, when the response isn't quite what you expected? 

Let's say you've got them something incredibly cool, and it's something you know for certain that they really want, and you're almost beside yourself with glee and excitement at the thought of how thrilled they're going to be when it arrives.

What if their response, in your eyes, doesn't live up to your lofty expectations?  Yes, they do say "Thank you," but not in the way you'd hoped.  What then?

Well... nothing.  

My dear old Nan, who raised me to live by a very strict code of kindness and good manners, God love her, always used to say that "Silent gratitude is sod-all use to anyone."

She was a very wise old girl, my Nan.  Well, apart from that time she completed the Daily Mirror crossword by inserting "shittt" (with three Ts) because it was the only thing she could think of that would fit in the available spaces.

Nan was a firm believer in good manners, the power of Please and Thank You, and she always insisted we send Thank You letters after every birthday and Christmas.  "Manners cost nothing," she used to say, "But ignorance comes at a price."  

And it's that same code of conduct I've instilled in my own children, which might possibly explain why I get so irrationally peeved when other people fail to live up to it.

I recently sent a close friend a very special present.  I had a bitch of a job getting hold of it, but it was uber-cool and something I knew they really wanted, so I was as giggly as a 12-year old at a Justin Bieber concert as I waited patiently for the package to reach them.  And waited.  And waited...

Eventually, the package reached its destination.  But instead of getting the incredibly enthusiastic, exuberant "WOW! THIS IS SO BRILLIANT! THANK YOU SO MUCH! YOU'VE MADE ME SO HAPPY!" response I was hoping for, I got a very simple and seemingly subdued, "Thank you."

Wait... What?  Hang on, that wasn't in my script!  What about all the joyful leaping around I was expecting?  Where are all the lavish declarations of friendship, love and gratitude?  

Well, that's the thing, you see?  It's not them - it's me. 

My friend said "Thank you."  What else should they have said?  What right did I have to expect anything other than "Thank you"?  And what does that say about me, that their simple and heartfelt "Thank you" left me feeling as flat as the proverbial pancake?

I'll tell you what it says about me.  It says that, in spite of all of my Nan's amazing, patient teaching throughout my early childhood, I appear to still have much to learn about accepting a genuine "Thank you" with the same graciousness with which it's given.

It also says I am clearly, in spite all of my indignant protestations, a complete drama queen.  But that's a whole other blog for another time.

In the words of William Shakespeare: "I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks."  And if that's good enough for Bill the Bard, then it should be good enough for me.