Anya

I met Anya when she came in for her first shift, and I disliked her almost immediately. She knows this; we used to laugh about it. Because over time, Anya and I became friends. I came to appreciate her raw honesty, her passion for certain subjects, and her kind heart. She was still a little rough around the edges, but she had so much potential bottled up in her little spirit that I just couldn't help but like her. 

It wasn't long into working together that I noticed that Anya would go down to the cafeteria every day for lunch, purchase a meal for herself, come back to our unit, and eat only half of it. She would throw the other half in the trash. Every day. 

Finally, I asked her what was up. Why do you throw half of your lunch away every day? 

She confessed she really only wanted the chicken tenders, but she felt silly buying only chicken tenders, so she got french fries, too, even though she didn't like them. It made her feel better about the purchase. But she always threw the fries away. 

Well, don't throw them away! I told her. We were always working with around half a dozen other folks or so. Certainly, there was someone who would want her fries. (When I said this, it didn't have to be me. I knew plenty of my coworkers were always doordashing this or that for lunch. Certainly, someone had to be hungry.) And so began a pattern where Anya would go down to the cafeteria, buy chicken tenders and fries in separate containers, come back to the unit, and shove a container of fries toward me. 

Some days, I really needed those fries. (As much as anyone ever really needs fries, I suppose.) Most days, I didn't really need them. I ate them anyway, every time. Because I hate wasting food; it's one of my things.

Eventually, Anya learned to buy just her chicken tenders, and I recognized the growth that it took for her to do that. I was always very happy when she came back with just whatever she wanted from the cafeteria and nothing extra. 

But I think about those fries a lot. 

Because I recognize that we all have our quirks, myself included. I have these little things about me that probably don't make a lot of sense to anyone else, things I couldn't really explain if I had to, except to know that in my spirit there's something that makes it simply have to be so. And as I think about what these things are (and sometimes, reflect on what these things are, as in when someone gives me a strange look and tells me I'm weird), I wonder if maybe, like Anya, there might be someone around me who can benefit from the things I do to satisfy myself that don't make any sense. 

Things that might actually be wasteful. 

There are things I do that make my brain feel better about itself, that put my soul at rest, that make me breathe a little easier. Not all of them make sense. Some of them end up just making more stuff that spills out over a life that can't really hold them. Or doesn't want to. Or whatever it is. But I think about what I said to Anya, and how she responded, and I wonder if I need to say the same thing to myself: 

Well, don't throw it away. 

Look around you. Find someone who can benefit from it. Look for a way to bless others. There's always a way.

When I think about Anya, I always think of her generous spirit, a spirit that was always willing to give. I think about how amazing she was when she was locked in. I think about how I really didn't like her at first, but we grew to be friends. I don't know where life is taking her next, but I'm rooting for her. Truly. She's a little rough around the edges, but when she gets locked in, she's golden. And she's going to do great things in this world. 

And I'm going to do better things because of the time that we spent together. 

May my quirks become blessings to others through a spirit of generosity. What an incredible goal.