You Never Know

I’m now approaching the time of life when a man (or woman) begins to wonder things like: ‘Was it all worth it?’ ‘Did I make a difference in any way?’ And, of course, ‘How will I be remembered – if at all?’

As a writer, I hope to be remembered by my works and words. This leads me to wonder if any will read or remember them next year, if at all. It also makes me desire to make the most of those I do write – to give meaning to my existence. And, naturally, I wonder if I’m up to the task.

Years ago, I worked on the Distant Early Warning Line of radar stations in northern Canada. There, I watched the radar screens, waiting to give warning of the approach of Russian bombers either by dint of a report, or by the silence which would mean we had been destroyed.

As you all know, the bombers never came. And that left a lot of free time on my hands, with little to occupy it. Now, each site had a small library, and I read voraciously. Soon I finished all the – in my opinion – top tier books we had on hand. Then the second tier books. And, still being up there, that started me on books I’d otherwise not give a second glance.

I recall reading one – in my opinion – trashy novel. I no longer recall it, or its author. Nor do I even recall the genre. But I do recall that I wouldn’t want to be known by that book. That doesn’t sound good, does it, one author trashing another’s work? And, why would I do this here, on my blog, when I wouldn’t want another to do this to me? Good question, that. And I have an answer.

In the middle of that ‘trashy book’, I came upon a sentence – a single sentence – which said exactly what I needed to hear at that moment. I fear that I cannot recall the sentence, nor of what it spoke to in me. I only remember a sudden feeling of peace, of enlightenment. This unknown author will never know what he (or she) did for me in that time of my need. He, or she, will never know that words composed by him (or her) helped a fellow being.

Perhaps that book earned out its advance; perhaps that author made a decent living. Perhaps not. Perhaps that author had only that one book published, and his or her dreams of a writing career were dashed by a lack of sales and a lack of a publishing company willing to risk again. And, perhaps, that author one day wondered if the effort put out had been worth it, never to know that I would reply, “Yes, absolutely.”

A dozen years ago my mother passed on. As executor of her estate, one of my duties entailed closing her bank account at the local Credit Union. The woman with whom I dealt made things easy for me. I really appreciated it. No doubt, she thought she was just doing her job as best she could. For years after that, every time I saw her in the bank, I recalled the kindness of a stranger, and I mentally thanked her.

Near the tenth anniversary of my mother’s death, I found myself again in the Credit Union, and the woman was my teller. I decided that the time had come to thank her personally, and not just mentally. It took less than a minute to explain that I had never forgotten and how I had appreciated her actions. She looked at me and said, “You know, I really needed to hear that today.” She retired shortly after that. Had I waited, I would have lost my chance.

So, what am I saying here? You should thank people while you are able? Well, you probably should; it might make the world a better place. But, no, such is not the purpose of this post. No, the thing that comes to me is that we never know what will ‘make a difference’ to another. It might be just doing our job, it might be a smile to a stranger, or it might be a word of encouragement made in passing. It could be something so simple that we never give it a second thought, but to the recipients, in whatever place they find themselves, that action, that word, the doing of our job, might make all the difference in the world. And you and I will likely never know.

So, when I again ask myself if I made a difference, I’ll have to say I likely did – sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. Was it all worth it? Probably. Will I be remembered? Does it really matter? As long as I continue to live, to write, to interact with those around me, I rest assured that something of what I do will carry on. And I guess that will have to be enough for me.

D.A. Boulter

PS: Don't forget to check out my progress from time to time (found on the "News" page), and, if you wish, read an excerpt from a forthcoming book, "Not With A Whimper".