The Ginger's Starfish

     If you've ever paid close attention to my outfits, you'll notice that everyday, no matter the occasion, I have a little gold starfish pinned to my clothes. Most often kept close to my collar-I always have it on. I don't care if it seems to match or not. At the start of every day, I pin it on and it stays on until I change at the end of the day.

     Several people have noticed this pin and asked me about it.  If the situation deems appropriate I relay the following story-

"As an old man walked the beach he saw a boy picking up starfish and flinging them into the sea. He asked the boy why. The boy answered that the starfish would die if left on the beach. Confused, the old man said, "But the beach goes on for miles and there are thousands of starfish. You can't possibly make a difference." The boy looked at the starfish in his hand, tossed it into the water and said, "Made a difference for that one.""

     So I wear the starfish for many reasons.

     It reminds me to keep doing the little things. Smile at someone. Text someone and let them know they're great.  Compliment her skirt. Let the couple behind me in the checkout line go first. Pay for his drink. Ask how they're doing. Little things that maybe don't seem to take much effort to me, but could completely alter someone else's day. It reminds me to appreciate when other people do the little things for me, even if it may not have taken much effort on their part.

     More importantly, it reminds me  of when I received the pin and the circumstances leading up to it. And the person who "threw me back into the water", so to speak. Who may not have noticed that I was struggling, or given it much thought when he introduced himself and tried to key up a conversation on my first week in a new town. I was petrified and I didn't want to be there. I didn't know a single person and my attitude was less than ideal. He attempted conversation and was not deterred by my bitch face or threat of mace to the eyes if he "even thinks about touching me."

     I would have never admitted it at the time, but I was grateful that he even noticed me, much less tried to talk me. Even if I may not have expressed it very well at the time.

     A few days later, undeterred by our first encounter (You'd think that after the threat of bodily harm, he would've kept his distance) he approached me again. Completely oblivious to the glare on my face and clear motive to get on my way, he once again tried to strike up a conversation.

     And so it went for a bit. I would show up late and sit in the very back with every intention of making a beeline for the door the instant it ended. And every time he managed to catch me on my way out and make chit chat for a few minutes.

     He invited me to game night. We played card games. We hung out at the park. He offered to pick me up for church, knowing I probably wouldn't attend if left to my own devices. He asked me questions about my life, my family, the paces I've lived, my hobbies, and anything he could think of. And he listened to my answers. He talked about his own childhood and his family, school, his girlfriend and his hometown. And we became friends. He became the one person I knew I could always rely on.

     I don't know if I can even explain the impact for good that he has had on my life. I promise you I would be a much different person, and probably not a very good one.

     I think about that first day a lot. How, as I parked my car, I made a deal with myself saying, "If no one talks to me, that means I don't have to come back." And how, that deal was holding up fairly well until he caught me on my way out. All he did was say hi and introduce himself and compliment my hair (not really an uncommon occurrence, especially from a fellow ginger). He probably didn't even have to think twice before he did it. But the impact it has had on me has been monumental.

     Since then, there have been several people who have "thrown me back into the ocean" maybe without them ever realizing it. People who have come to my house and just sat and talked to me when I was lonely. People who have colored with me to help keep my anxiety at bay. Playing my favorite songs on the piano for me and brightening up a dismal holiday season. Driving me home from game nights when I was too sick to drive myself. Being my bodyguards when a particular fellow was making me uncomfortable. Towing and fixing my car. Late nights, sitting in the car and talking with me, knowing that they had to be up early the next day. Saying thank you. Pointing out positives in myself that I may not always notice. Talking and listening.

     Maybe they never seemed like they were a big deal. Maybe they didn't take a whole lot of effort on their part. But they are moments that will never be forgotten or cast off as trivial. They mean the world to me.

     And so on days when things are a rough, when I need an extra reminder of all of the people who constantly throw me back into the ocean, I pin the starfish to the end of the sleeve in my hand or the hem of my shirt. I can feel it. I can fidget with it. I can run my fingers over it throughout the day, and every time I do, it reminds me to be more like Jacob.

     To be more like Barb. Like James. And Sebastion. And Mara. And Devon. And Calvin. And Katelynn. And Cameron. And Hannah. And Greg. And Hailey. And countless, countless others.

     That is why I wear the little gold starfish. So that maybe it will help remind me to throw someone back into the water.