Quiet Influence
Last week at the gym, I saw a guy jumping rope in the small dance studio. I used to jump rope a lot in the garage—back when we actually HAD a garage. It was my preferred form of cardio.
Unfortunately, condo living has made it a little awkward to find space just to jump rope. The guy probably caught me staring a bit while I was slightly reminiscing about my jumping glory days, so I turned away quickly.
I didn’t realize the ceiling of the dance studio was tall enough for a jump rope. The sight of my fellow resident jumping rope encouraged me to buy my own. And I did so a few days later.
This morning, I headed to the gym bringing along my new-old toy. I finally jumped rope for the first time in years. Muscle memory kicked in fast. I felt myself pretending like I was a boxer, a persona I used to try to embody in my old garage. It warmed me up to attack my workout for the day. I left my jump rope beside the gym’s cooler while I went about my routine.
Some time later, as I was grabbing my jump rope before heading out, I caught sight of a rope swinging by the dance studio. It was the same guy. I wasn’t sure this time, but I think he saw me leave with my new jump rope.
I felt a small urge to thank him, but my awkwardness held me back. Why would I even need to do that? He didn’t really do anything to or for me. He was just a guy jumping rope—and yet, there I was: a product of his influence, following in his jumping footsteps.
It made me think about all the small things I’ve probably done that were unremarkable. They might’ve opened someone’s eyes and made them say, even briefly, “Oh, I didn’t know you could do that.”