Skip to main content

Something's been eating at me.

I kept telling myself I wouldn't say anything about this, I wouldn't bitch, and I wouldn't let it get to me. But I recently went against my typical rule of thumb and it got me absolutely no where -- nothing, not even real gratitude. I went out of my way by miles to do something incredibly kind for someone and (not that I was seeking something in return) didn't even so much as get real thank you.

I made cards for someone, I won't say who, before I left for New Hampshire. I made 4 actually. And for anyone who knows, me making four cards is about equivalent to a day's work. Also for those of you who don't know, my cards are very personal. VERY, very personal. I've never made a card for a person I didn't know personally and I've never made a card with the intent of giving it to someone for them to fill out and then give to someone else.

The cards I make, the work I put into making them, is solely generated by my love for the person I'm making them for. And each card is individual; just like the people they are for. I've never made the same card twice -- not even when I make 30 cards at Christmas time. But I received a request from someone I care about very much to make two cards for two people (four people, actually) that I hadn't met and hadn't even heard of before. And because I care for this person so much, I made those cards. And because this person's birthday was nearing, I made a card for them as well. And because someone else at the same house is also very dear to me, I made them a card without occasion.

So all in all, I made four cards -- four individual, completely unique, never-see-before, never-to-be-seen-again cards. And because I was going out of town within a matter of days, I mailed the cards (shipping for a bubble/safe package is not super expensive, but still costs) so the person who requested the two cards would have them in a timely manner. When I arrived in New Hampshire, I got a phone call from a third somebody that, after I asked, mentioned that the person who requested the cards received them and said ...

"they weren't like the cards she usually makes."

Beyond me being mad at myself for doing something I knew I shouldn't (because Alison M. Scott cards should only ever come from Alison M. Scott), it hurt my feelings that someone who typically raves over cards never intended for him/her to see, would feel so ridiculously unmoved by the fact that I stopped everything I was doing in preparation of getting ready to leave (include four assignments with deadlines) to make cards for people I didn't even know existed, to be given to those people by someone other than myself.

What I realize in feeling this way, is that no matter how much this person urges me to commercialize my cards, I never will. And I certainly never, ever will go out of my way to make cards so that someone else doesn't have to put that effort in.

Honest to goodness, I've never felt so unappreciated. It really sucks. I guess I learned my lesson: it is actually possible to be too kind.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Someone busier than you is running right now.

I have a confession to make to my spark buddy, Melissa: I did not go for a run last night. I'm terrible, I know. Here's what else I know: 1. I have never made such great progress in getting into shape as I did when I was jogging regularly. 2. My knee starts to stay in a constant state of noticeable discomfort after I've jogged for over a week. 3. I miss the liberating feeling of running. 4. I miss the empowerment of cross-training (biking, swimming, running) So I've been perusing the intarwebz for motivational media this morning. And while I hate Nike for their shoddy work ethic, jacked up prices, and apparently tiny clothes, I love them for their motivational material. I just have yet to find any media more inspiring to me than the following advertisements. And ... "I am addicted. I've collected footsteps before dawn. Seen places I never knew existed. Run to the moon and back. Been a rabbit for the neighborhood dogs. Obeyed the voice in my head. Let music carr

603.

I never told you this story, but when I was a three, I had to have physical therapy for a broken femur. Every single day we drove to PT, we went over a small, fairly insignificant overpass with had a shopping plaza below it. The address for the shopping plaza was just barely visible over the bridge. And it was 603. And every single day as we went over, I would excitedly blurt out the numbers to show my mom I recognized them. This turned into a game for us. And eventually, a tradition. Fast forward into my "more grown up" ages ... like ... high school. And, if you could be a fly in my truck, you would have without a doubt witnessed me driving over the overpass by myself and, sure enough, I'd just say it ... "six oh three." Shortly after high school is when I met Seth, Tommy, Leif, Troy, and Jonesy in Gainesville. Still, there was no connection. Their friends and families came to visit, we then bonded, they returned home, and still, nothing. It wasn't until th

What did the rug say to the floor?

I'm just going to bust out and say it... I don't have anything to say. So it's list time again. 1. Against Me! I thought about it and thought about it and really... it's not able to be summed up in a blog. I saw them two weekends ago and still have a certain amount of euphoria clouding me. And I'm supremely happy about that. I met new -- and entirely temporary -- friends at that show. A group of guys (and a couple girls) struck up conversation with me at the bar and we spent most of the evening hanging out, sipping beer, and talking about music and the movie Independence Day. It was easily a far better time than I would have had if I hadn't made any friends. 2. I've had a handful of people offer to help me get my foot in the door with TOEFL & international schools. In fact, the sister of my co-worker returned last night from China and she said you don't even need a teaching degree -- just certification with TOEFL. She told her brother -- my co-worker