Ahmet: “Are you hungry?
Would you like half my dinner? I’m happy to share it with you. My wife made it and it’s very good.”
It was the end of a long day. His homemade dinner was steaming on a hot plate, it looked good, and it smelled good. And I was smiling as I said, “It looks delicious! But no, thank you. I’ll have dinner when I get home.”
Ahmet is a parking attendant in the basement garage of a tall, stunningly gorgeous building with floor-to-ceiling windows and spectacular views of the San Francisco Bay and the city’s financial district.
Everyone he serves has a lot more money than he does. But Ahmet has more heart than 100 people put together and he extends every bit of it as he invites me to share his dinner.
I can’t remember the last time someone made an offer like this to me.
Well, now that I think about it, actually, I do remember. Several years ago I was having lunch with low-level factory workers and they offered to share their lunches with me.
Senior VP: “Would you like to have lunch in the executive cafeteria?”
Me: “No, I’ll go eat with the operators in the employee lunch room.”
Senior VP: “But they don’t know you!”
Me: “We’ll be fine.”
And they always welcomed me with open arms and offers of food. So many ethnic dishes all new to me, so many cuisines. So many smells, and so many smiles.
I get a salad at the salad bar and walk over to a long table of laughing people.
“Hi, I’m Ingrid. I’m here on a project. May I join you for lunch?”
Everyone at the table instantly moves over to make room. A bevy of voices …
“Yes! Yes! Please sit down! Would you like to try my lunch? Or mine? I made it.” Or, “My wife made it. It’s very good. My name is …. And mine is …. Where did you say you were from? Is that all you’re having, a salad? You need to try this, I have too much …. And mine …”
And now Ahmet. What did I do to deserve half of his meal? I had done so little.
I had smiled and talked to him a little bit as he returned my car and handed me the key. I really enjoyed him, his enthusiasm. I looked into his eyes and saw unusual depth. I liked him. I told him about how it was my first time in the building and how much I enjoyed it, and then when he talked, I was interested, and somehow one thing led to another.
For people with generous hearts, it takes very little.
Next thing you know, I’m seeing pictures of Ahmet’s Turkish family, his beautiful wife, his handsome son and his wife, his daughter and the young man she’s going to marry and his mother and father, and all the fabulous Turkish food they were eating, and Ahmet proudly saying, “This is my family.” So proud of the beautiful beaming faces and the gorgeous dining table spread with the dazzling array of beautiful dishes his beloved wife had so lovingly made.
And hearing about how sad he is that his daughter will be moving out of the house after she is married this weekend, and what a nice wedding it will be, and how the boy’s father has cancer and how this makes Ahmet cry, and Ahmet starts crying as he tells me and I have sorrow well up into tears in my own eyes and I am deeply immersed into his love-filled life.
Ahmet sighs and says, “But we have to live every minute with what we have, every minute of life is precious. There is always much good in life.”
We are looking at each other silently for a moment, deeply understanding each other. We know each other’s souls, sharing the same human feelings we all have in common, a profound moment as we connect, two humans with powerful emotions who understand each other. I’m overwhelmed by the extraordinary heartfelt moment that Ahmet has created.
Ahmet. Who shares everything. Takes me into his life, opens his heart, wraps me in love. A family type of love. I feel blessed.
I drive away, smiling and singing quietly to myself, looking forward to tomorrow morning, when Ahmet will greet me like an old, old friend.
And he does.
When he sees me driving into the garage, he runs over to my car like he has been waiting for me for days. He opens my door for me as if it were a fancy carriage, and greets me with a burst of joy and love and delightful Turkish accent. We laugh and smile and are happy to see each other.
As I leave the basement garage and get on the elevator to the plush corporate offices upstairs where I’m teaching the executives the concept of “affinity”, I want to tell them, “Talk to Ahmet for 5 minutes. He will teach you more about affinity than my lectures ever could. He will show you.”
On a whim, as I’m talking about affinity, I do ask them, “Has anyone here ever talked to Ahmet down in the garage?”
Everyone in the room lights up! I’ve never seen anything like it! There is a jumble of voices, they all burst into joyful stories about how wonderful Ahmet is, how much they love him, and how he changes their mood, in the mornings when they arrive, and the evenings at the end of a long day, how he uplifts them and makes their spirits soar.
Everyone has a unique story about Ahmet. Many have shared his dinner! Or the little delicacies and treats his wife makes that he brings for all the busy corporate people as he tells them to simply, “Enjoy. My wife made it. It’s good.”.
They talk and talk and talk and talk and go on and on with stories of how much Ahmet has done for them, how much he loves them and how much they love him.
I have NEVER in my life seen anything like this, never seen anyone loved so much.
I have never ever in my life seen a group talk about ANYONE for so long and with such enthusiasm. Not in my professional life. Not in my personal life.
The faces of these corporate executives are radiant and never stop smiling. Pure joy.
One of my students decides that he will go down at lunchtime and bring Ahmet up to have lunch with us. We all decide that this is a marvelous idea.
And then, at lunch, here is Ahmet. Upstairs, for the first time out of the garage, marveling at the incredible spirit of the group giving him such a welcoming reception as he walks into the room. We have the most splendid time. Everyone taking photos and selfies with Ahmet, him smiling broadly, surprised and happy, our improbable celebrity. Our loud laughter filling the halls, sounding like a joyful and boisterous family celebration.
As we wrap up our lunch, we are smiling, all of us filled with something we could never put into words. Something deeply satisfying. Deeply nourishing.
At the end of the day, when I go down to the basement to get my car, as I munch on the delicious nut-filled dates Ahmet’s beautiful wife has made, Ahmet asks me, “I will see you tomorrow?”
I have completed this round of training and I say, “Not tomorrow, Ahmet, but I will be back in January.”
Ahmet says, “JANUARY????” His voice and face fill with despair.
He looks like he’s going to cry. I feel like crying.
Me: “Don’t worry, I am coming back in January. For sure. Definitely. We’ll see each other again.”
Ahmet looks heartbroken. I am heartbroken. We hug. It does a little bit of good, but not much.
As I drive out to the street, I stop and turn around and see Ahmet standing in the middle of the garage, looking sad, slowly waving to me. I feel so loved.
I open the door and get out of the car, walk back to him and we hug one last time.
I say, “I can’t wait to see you again.”
Ahmet smiles, and I am filled with joy.
I get back in the car, filled with Ahmet’s gift. I am overflowing with a happiness that, for me, represents the meaning of life. I drive away smiling. Everyone leaves Ahmet smiling. It’s a smile that stays on my face all the way home.
I’m thinking, “How can someone who works in the basement garage with no windows feel like he has the best job in the building?”
And I know in my heart that the answer to that question is the answer to all the mysteries of human relationships, is the answer to creating extraordinary connection and friendship with the whole world, a magic very few experience. It is the answer to a happy love-filled life.
Everyone he serves has a lot more money than he does. But Ahmet has more affinity, more heart, than 100 people put together. And he is generous with it. He doesn’t discriminate. We all lavish in the abundance Ahmet showers on us.
Being filled with so much affinity, everyone around Ahmet is spontaneously filled with it also.
This is something I teach every day to people who have never experienced it, the difference it makes when you are FILLED with it, all the way to the top, to overflowing.
I wish all of my students had Ahmet. I want to tell them, “Talk to Ahmet for 5 minutes. You will know. You will never forget.”
The executives in my workshop never will.
During the workshop, they all found it within themselves and learned how to create it and to live it. And now, they too have a level of affinity that creates magic. Pure happiness.
We all can. We all have what Ahmet has.
Ahmet waits for no one to go first. It’s how he lives his life. If you asked him, “Why?”, Ahmet wouldn’t know how to answer. Because it’s better this way. No more reason than that.
Be the cause!