Giftedness– a Story
Some years ago Karen and I were visiting her sister and brother-in-law in New Brunswick. The ladies wanted to do some shopping in Fredericton, which is surely one of the planet’s most pleasant very small cities. It was a gentle early summer day, the streets all leafy and sun-dappled, with most store and coffee shop windows opened to the sidewalk.
Fredericton is always quiet, and in midweek even more so. In that setting, Paul and I told the ladies to take all the time they wanted, and set off to solve the world’s problems and maybe have a beer or two.
It was while thus engaged that we walked past a music store, the doors and windows of which were fully open to the sidewalk, but otherwise (to me) unremarkable. But it was not unremarkable to Paul.
He had spotted two baby grand pianos, back to back, right in the middle of the floor. Big, shiny, black, baby grands. He stopped, as if in need of a fix.
“Norm, I’ve got to try those pianos!” Those were the last words I heard from him for about the next ninety minutes. He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the store.
Sliding onto the bench, he did that funny stretchy thing that pianists do with their fingers before they play. Then he started softly, feeling out the soul of the instrument, but once he and the piano had become one and lost in a world of their own, music poured out of the shop and onto the street– crazy jazz, then soaring classical, outrageous boogie-woogie, some joyous gospel, and thundering rock — the entire spectrum. But oddly enough, while I recognized every genre, I couldn’t name a single tune. But then, I’m no musician.
Soon enough, the clerk looked up from some paperwork. He knew that this was special, and after a few minutes he stepped out of the shadows and slid himself onto the bench of the other piano. Tentatively at first, then with abandon, he began to harmonize, complement, and fill in the blanks of Paul’s songs. The two alternated the lead, back and forth, and never a word spoken.
For an hour and a half, maybe more, the two were in another world, lost in their music. For me, and for the dozen or so other onlookers, it was magic.
Back on the sidewalk at last, I told Paul how much I had enjoyed the performance, but admitted I hadn’t recognized a thing. “Oh,” he laughed, “We just made it up as we went along!”
“Made it up as we went along” for ninety minutes? That’s Giftedness.
Giftedness is what you do so naturally that you think there’s nothing special about it, it just happens, and you assume that most everyone else can do it. It flows from your fingers, or your paintbrush, or your vocal cords, or your mind, with no consciousness that you are doing something remarkable. And when you are in that zone, there is no sense of time or of the outside world.
But while you may think that everyone else can do it, the truth is that they cannot. You and your giftings are unique, and it’s only when you recognize and appreciate your special gifts that you can begin to share them with the world. These special treasures are given to you, in trust, for the benefit of others.
On that leafy day in Fredericton, Paul had a wonderful time. I had a wonderful time. The music clerk had a wonderful time, and so did the crowd who gathered on the sidewalk. And I had a memory and a lesson I never forgot.
That’s why gifts are given to us.
Do you know your gifts? Are you giving them back to the world around you?
(Extract from my book, The Alignment Doctrine.)