{"id":190,"date":"2021-02-15T10:00:00","date_gmt":"2021-02-15T02:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lifecoaching.sg\/LIFESCOOP\/?p=190"},"modified":"2020-09-15T17:49:41","modified_gmt":"2020-09-15T09:49:41","slug":"the-last-cab-ride-simple-acts","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lifecoaching.sg\/LIFESCOOP\/the-last-cab-ride-simple-acts\/","title":{"rendered":"The Last Cab Ride (simple acts\u2026)"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p>A great story, \u201cThe Last Cab Ride\u201d to remind us about our &#8220;human-ness&#8221; &amp; &#8220;mindfulness&#8221; (qualities that all leaders must possess)\u2026<br><br>Enjoy\u2026<br><br><span style=\"text-decoration: underline;\">The Last Cab Ride<\/span><br>I arrived at the address and honked the horn.<br><br>After waiting a few minutes I honked again.<br><br>Since this was going to be the last ride of my shift, I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.<br><br>&#8216;Just a minute,&#8217; answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.<br><br>After a long pause, the door opened.<br><br>A small woman in her 90&#8217;s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940&#8217;s movie.<br><br>By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.<br>There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.<br><br>&#8216;Would you carry my bag out to the car?&#8217; she said.<br><br>I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.<br><br>She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.<br><br>She kept thanking me for my kindness.<br> <br>&#8216;It&#8217;s nothing,&#8217; I told her. &#8216;I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.&#8217;<br><br>&#8216;Oh, you&#8217;re such a good boy,&#8217; she said.<br><br>When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, &#8216;Could you drive through downtown?&#8217;<br><br>&#8216;It&#8217;s not the shortest way,&#8217; I answered quickly. &#8216;Oh, I don&#8217;t mind,&#8217; she said. &#8216;I&#8217;m in no hurry. I&#8217;m on my way to a hospice.&#8217;<br><br>I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.<br><br>&#8216;I don&#8217;t have any family left,&#8217; she continued in a soft voice\u2026 &#8216;The doctor says I don&#8217;t have very long.&#8217;<br><br>I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.<br><br>&#8216;What route would you like me to take?&#8217; I asked.<br><br>For the next two hours, we drove through the city.<br><br>She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.<br><br>We drove through the neighbourhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds.<br><br>She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.<br><br>Sometimes she&#8217;d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.<br><br>As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, &#8216;I&#8217;m tired. Let&#8217;s go now&#8217;.<br><br>We drove in silence to the address she had given me.<br><br>It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.<br><br>Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.<br><br>I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.<br><br>&#8216;How much do I owe you?&#8217; She asked, reaching into her purse.<br><br>&#8216;Nothing,&#8217; I answered.<br><br>&#8216;You have to make a living,&#8217; she said.<br><br>&#8216;There are other passengers,&#8217; I responded.<br><br>Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.<br><br>&#8216;You gave an old woman a few moments of joy,&#8217; she said. &#8216;Thank you.&#8217;<br><br>I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. <br><br>Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.<br><br>I didn&#8217;t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought.<br><br>For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?<br><br>On a quick review, I don&#8217;t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We&#8217;re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware &#8211; beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.<br><br>PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID.<br><br>BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.<br><br>At the bottom of this great story was a request to forward it. I deleted that request, because if you have read to this point, you won&#8217;t have to be asked to pass it along, you just will\u2026<br><br>Thank you for the difference You are making in the world.<br>Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance.<br><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>A great story, \u201cThe Last Cab Ride\u201d to remind us about our &#8220;human-ness&#8221; &amp; &#8220;mindfulness&#8221; (qualities that all leaders must possess)\u2026 Enjoy\u2026 The Last Cab RideI arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be the last ride of my shift, I [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[17,20,16,14],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-190","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-my-happiness","category-my-job","category-my-vocation","category-purpose-fulfilment"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lifecoaching.sg\/LIFESCOOP\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/190","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lifecoaching.sg\/LIFESCOOP\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lifecoaching.sg\/LIFESCOOP\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lifecoaching.sg\/LIFESCOOP\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lifecoaching.sg\/LIFESCOOP\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=190"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/lifecoaching.sg\/LIFESCOOP\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/190\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":192,"href":"https:\/\/lifecoaching.sg\/LIFESCOOP\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/190\/revisions\/192"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lifecoaching.sg\/LIFESCOOP\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=190"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lifecoaching.sg\/LIFESCOOP\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=190"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lifecoaching.sg\/LIFESCOOP\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=190"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}