Once, when I was traveling, I went to the bookstore in the airport to look for a book to purchase, and I came across a book with a curious title: The Fred Factor. The subtitle is, “How Passion in Your Work and Life Can Turn the Ordinary Into the Extraordinary.
Intrigued, I bought the book.
The author, Mark Sanborn, based his book on his relationship with a remarkable person – his mailman.
Sanborn moved into a new house, and several days after moving in, there was a knock on the door. The man standing there said with a large smile and cheery tone, “Hi, I’m Fred, your mailman. I just wanted to say hello, introduce myself and get to know you.”
Fred asked Sanborn what he did for a living, and Sanborn explained that he was a public speaker.
“Oh, so you probably travel a lot,” Fred replied. The new resident confirmed that this was correct.
Fred proceeded to explain that when somebody travels, the mail collects in the mailbox and shows everybody that the homeowner is away, thus inviting burglars. To protect Mr. Sanborn, Fred graciously offered that whenever he would see the mail collecting, indicating that Mr. Sanborn is traveling, he would hold the mail for him. Sanborn thanked Fred.
A few weeks later, Sanborn returned from a trip, and when he arrived at his front door, he noticed that the doormat was moved. He looked around and saw that it was on the side of the front porch, covering something. After lifting the mat, he saw a package alongside a note – from Fred.
In the note, Fred explained that UPS had mistakenly delivered a package intended for Sanborn to a different home. Fred noticed the package, and brought it to Sanborn’s home. But rather than just leave it by the door, which would indicate that he was away, he put it to the side covered by the doormat.
On another occasion, he was mowing his lawn when he heard a familiar voice calling to him from a car. It was Fred, who was enjoying an off-day.
“Hi Mr. Sanborn!” Fred shouted. “It’s so nice to see you! How was your trip?”
Sanborn was amazed by Fred’s friendliness, but especially, the way he managed to make such an ordinary job – delivering mail – extraordinary. He began talking about his experiences and relationship with Fred in his motivational speeches, and eventually put together an entire book – The Fred Factor – which presents the lessons he learned from Fred and how his inspiring example can help motivate all people to be better at everything they do.
כל אשר נשאו לבו
The Torah in Parashat Vayakhel describes Beneh Yisrael’s enthusiastic response to Moshe’s call for the donation of materials and for volunteers to construct the Mishkan. Interestingly, the Torah tells of two different groups of people who came forward to donate:
ויבואו כל איש אשר נשאו לבו וכל אשר נדבה רוחו אותו...
Every man whose heart lifted him came, as well as everyone whose spirit motivated him….
What is the difference between these two groups – between those whose “heart carried” them, and those whose “spirit motivated” them?
The Or Ha’hayim explains that the second phrase – כל אשר נדבה רוחו אותו – refers to people who gave what they were capable of giving. These were people who had what to donate and were inspired to do so. The first group, however, went even beyond that. These people were “carried” by their hearts to extend above and beyond what was normally expected. There is certainly nothing to criticize about the group of נדבה רוחו אותו, who donated what they were capable of donating. But the other group, those אשר נשאו לבו, went beyond the norm. They exceeded ordinary expectations, giving even more than they were truly capable of giving.
Fred the Mailman is a person אשר נשאו לבו, who decided that he was going to extend beyond the norm, and turn his ordinary life into something extraordinary. He decided that if he worked as a postman, he would elevate his work to the highest possible standard – doing it with passion, with love, with joy and with graciousness.
Finding Freds in the Marketplace
The Gemara in Masechet Ta’anit tells of two “Freds” who were spotted by the prophet Eliyahu.
There was a certain Rabbi named Rabbi Beroka, who periodically met with Eliyahu. One day, when Rabbi Beroka was in the marketplace, he asked Eliyahu to point out somebody who was guaranteed a share in the next world. Eliyahu pointed to a certain individual, and Rabbi Beroka noticed that the man wore the kind of shoes worn by non-Jews, and did not wear tzitzit. Astonishingly, this was the man who Eliyahu identified as somebody promised a share in the next world. Rabbi Beroka ran over to the man and asked him what he did, but the man, clearly in a rush, told him to come back the next day. Sure enough, Rabbi Beroka returned the following day and approached the man. The fellow explained that he was a prison warden, and he worked to ensure that the male and female and prisoners were kept separate. He even put his bed in between the two groups of prisoners, risking his life in order to protect the vulnerable female inmates.
Additionally, the man told Rabbi Beroka, he worked as a Jewish “insider,” spending time among the local gentiles and pretending to be one of them. Whenever he heard of plans to cause trouble to the Jews, he immediately reported the information to the Rabbis so they could pray.
Rabbi Beroka instantly understood why this special man was guaranteed a share in the next world, as he courageously protected vulnerable women in prison, and helped the Rabbis protect the Jews from hostile gentiles.
In the meantime, two other men came into the marketplace, and Eliyahu told Rabbi Beroka that they, too, were guaranteed a share in the next world.
Rabbi Beroka went over to them to find out who they were. They explained that they were comedians. When they saw people in the marketplace who looked down or anxious, they approached them and made them laugh, lifting their spirits.
This story teaches us a very important lesson. We don’t have to be a secret agent saving the Jewish People to make a real difference. The comedians were put on the same pedestal as the hero who worked to protect the Jews. They were special because they extended beyond the norm. They didn’t just go to the market and shop like the rest of us. They made a special effort to help people smile, laugh, feel happy and feel good about themselves.
Turning Robots Back Into People
When we go about our day, there are countless people whom we so often view as robots. They do their thing, as we expect them to, and we hardly notice or react. It could be the housekeeper, the gardener, the mailman, the garbage collector, the teller in the bank, the custodian in the synagogue, the person at the checkout counter in the store, or the doorman to the office building. So often we fail to notice or acknowledge these people, as though they were just automated machines doing what we need them to do, without paying any attention to them. We don’t mistreat them or even speak rudely to them, but rarely do we go out of our way to show them that we notice and appreciate them.
When we build a Mishkan, as we live a Torah life, we are expected to strive higher. We should try to be among those אשר נשאו לבו, who reach higher, who turn ordinary life into something extraordinary. We should try to be like Fred.
Being extraordinary is not difficult at all. It just takes a few extra words, like, “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” It could be some cute remark or joke to the cashier. It could be extending a warm greeting and giving a friendly wave to the mailman when we pass by him in the morning. It means getting to know all these “robots” by name - so we turn them back into human beings. These simple measures can turn the ordinary into extraordinary, and can help spread joy and vitality all around us.
My wife once told me of two back-to-back experiences she had while running errands that simply but effectively highlight the difference between being ordinary and being extraordinary. She was in one store, and while waiting on line she noticed that the lady in front of her was looking at her phone the entire time, making a purchase from Amazon. She barely paid attention to the cashier, focused as she was on her Amazon purchase. At the next store, my wife could not find the product she needed, and so the cashier had to go to the back of the store to find it. Before my wife left the store, she warmly thanked the cashier for the extra effort she put in to help her.
“I will be happy to help you anytime,” the cashier said, “because you treat me like a person. Most other customers don’t.”
It did not take much effort for my wife to transform her ordinary errand to something extraordinary. All it took was an extra sentence – “I really appreciate all your effort, thank you.” We just need to bring an extra little bit of personality, character, humor and zest into everything we do. It’s not hard at all, and it makes a drastic difference, fundamentally transforming whatever it is we happen to be doing at any moment of the day.
Start Really Living
The first step to turning our ordinary lives into extraordinary is taking our heads out of our phones.
Smartphones are, of course, very useful, and for many people – like myself – they have become an indispensable tool for life. But left unchecked, our use of smartphones can turn us into mindless robots, and sadly, this is precisely what is happening to so many of us. If our eyes or ears are constantly focused on our electronic devices, we are not attuned to the people around us or to the world around us. We are absorbed within ourselves, rather than reaching out beyond ourselves to make a real difference in other people’s lives.
In February 2016, a woman named Jenna Woginrich published an article in The Guardian with the self-explanatory title, “How I Quit My Smartphone Addiction and Really Started Living.” I seldom cite entire articles, but I believe this one is worth presenting in full:
The phone rings: it’s my friend checking to see if I can pick her up on the way to a dinner party. I ask her where she is and as she explains, I reach as far as I can across the countertop for a pen. I scribble the address in my trusty notebook I keep in my back pocket. I tell her I’ll be at her place in about 20 minutes, give or take a few. Then I hang up. Literally.
I physically take the handset receiver away from my ear and hang it on the weight-triggered click switch that cuts off my landline’s dial tone.
I take my laptop, Google the address, add better directions to my notes and head outside to my 1989 pick-up truck (whose most recent technological feature is a cassette player) and drive over. If I get lost on the way, I’ll need to ask someone for directions. If she changes her plans, she won’t be able to tell me or cancel at a moment’s notice. If I crash on the way, I won’t be calling 911.
I’m fine with all of this. As you guessed by now, I haven’t had a cellphone for more than 18 months.
I didn’t just cancel cellular service and keep the smartphone for Wi-Fi fun, nor did I downgrade to a flip phone to “simplify”; I opted out entirely. There is no mobile phone in my life, in any form, at all.
Arguably, there should be. I’m a freelance writer and graphic designer with many reasons to have a little computer in my holster, but I don’t miss it. There are a dozen ways to contact me between email and social media. When I check in, it’s on my terms. No one can interrupt my bad singing of Hooked on a Feeling with a text message. It’s as freeing as the first night of a vacation.
I didn’t get rid of it for some hipster-inspired luddite ideal or because I couldn’t afford it. I cut myself off because my life is better without a cellphone. I’m less distracted and less accessible, two things I didn’t realize were far more important than instantly knowing how many movies Kevin Kline’s been in since 2010 at a moment’s notice. I can’t be bothered unless I choose to be. It makes a woman feel rich.
When friends found out, I was told it was as insane a decision as leaving a rent-controlled apartment. But I was tired of my world existing through a black screen and even more tired of being contacted whenever anyone (or any bot) felt like it. I didn’t need to know every Facebook friend’s birthday or be emailed about a deal from Amazon on paper towels. These once novel complimentary services had turned as grating to my nerves as a little brother chanting “I’m not touching you. I’m not touching YOU!” as he incessantly poked a finger inches in front of my face.
I don’t like being bothered or bossed around. I hated that anyone, for any reason, could interrupt my life, and I could interrupt my life just the same. Even if I turned it off for a break from the conversations, I knew as soon as it powered back on there would be an hour or more of secretary work waiting for me.
I can only speak for myself, but it wasn’t the handy features that were the reason we broke up – it was the addiction. I was constantly checking emails and social media, or playing games. When I found out I could download audiobooks, the earbuds never left my lobes. I was a hard user. I loved every second of it.
I even slept with my phone by my side. It was what I fell asleep watching, and it was the alarm that woke me up. It was never turned off. I’m certain I texted while driving, in dark movie theaters, and out with friends around restaurant tables. It got so bad that I grew uncomfortable with any 30-second span of hands-free idleness. I felt obligated to reply to every Facebook comment, text, tweet and game request.
As an author I wrote it all off as reader interaction, free publicity and important grassroots marketing. These were the justifications of a junkie.
I’ve been clean a year and a half now, and I’m doing fine. I get plenty of work, I don’t miss invitations, and I’m no longer scared of my own thoughts. These are not small victories in a world where constant communication isn’t just a convenient accessory – it’s a second skin.
I got a landline and I got more sleep. I look people in the eye. I eat food instead of photographing it and am not driving half a ton of metal into oncoming traffic while looking down at a tiny screen. My business, social life, and personal safety have not evaporated overnight either. Turns out a basic internet connection and laptop is plenty of connectivity to keep friends informed, weekends fun and trains running on time. And while I might be missing out on being able to call 911 at any moment, it’s worth the sacrifice to me. Alcoholics can clean wounds with 100 proof vodka, but that doesn’t mean they should have it in their back pocket just in case.
I’m glad to be back in the world again. It beats waiting for the notification alert telling me that I exist.
Personally, I don’t see it being realistic to give up the smartphone – though I wish it was. The constant, compulsive checking, reading, texting, browsing and posting is turning us into machines. Rather than using our G-d-given personalities and characters to impact our surroundings, we are busy looking into a screen. We need to have the discipline to use our phone only for the necessary stuff, and not allow all the unnecessary stuff to interfere with life.
The next step is to acknowledge and notice people, no matter who they are.
The foundations of the Mishkan were built from the מחצית השקל – the silver half-coin that every member of the nation was required to donate. The donation of a half-coin conveyed the message that each and every one of us is just a half. We are all incomplete without other people. We all should feel the need to connect to others, to show interest in others and to engage with others. We should view them not as robots or objects, but as our other half, as people who matter to us and are important to us.
The chief artisans who oversaw the construction of the Mishkan were two men named Betzalel and Aholiav. Betzalel belong to the largest and most prestigious tribe – Yehuda – whereas Aholiav hailed from the smallest of all the tribes – Dan. They were chosen to work together as leaders in order to to send the message that we are to include everyone in our lives, and try to connect to all people.
None of us are too important to get to know the names of the mailman, the doorman, the bank teller and the cashier, or to engage them in light, hearty conversation when we see them. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with just placing the check on the counter, signing, saying “thank you” and leaving. But we can turn the ordinary experience of making a deposit into something extraordinary with just a little bit of personality and humor, by saying something nice and friendly to the teller. There’s nothing wrong with entering the building without acknowledging the doorman, but איש אשר נשאו לבו, somebody who reaches higher than just the ordinary, makes a point of smiling and greeting the doorman by name every time he comes and goes.
Exuding Positivity
Another key ingredient to making ordinary activities extraordinary, which might be the hardest ingredient, is to stay positive and upbeat. It is natural to feel fatigued, frustrated and aggravated by the rigors of life, and we all do from time to time. But we should try, as much as possible, to stay positive, if only to help us make every ordinary experience something special.
The Malbim makes a remarkable comment on the story of the donations to the Mishkan. He writes that there were people among Beneh Yisrael who were unable to donate anything. They were poor, and had nothing to give. These people sincerely wanted to participate in the campaign, but they simply could not. Based on a careful reading of the pesukim, the Malbim writes that their desire to donate was lovingly accepted by Hashem together with the donations that were actually given by others. Although they could not actually give anything, their contribution was accepted.
What does this mean? It tells us that our attitude, mood and feeling has a profound impact, even when we cannot do anything concrete. As important as it is to actually contribute and help out as much as we can, we also make a powerful impact through the positive energy we exude, through our smile, our personality and our cheerfulness. What makes Fred the Mailman special is not just his going beyond the call of duty to retrieve a misplaced package. It is his friendly, cheerful demeanor, his desire to connect to the people he served. This is something that each and every one of us, without exception, can do anytime we interact with another person. We can change people’s lives simply by the positive energy we emit, by smiling and by being fun and enjoyable. This demeanor can make any ordinary experience something truly extraordinary.
John Wooden, who died in 2010 at the age of 99, was one of the most revered coaches in the history of American sports. He led the UCLA men’s basketball team to ten championships, and he was beloved by his players. Many of his credos which he taught to his players have become famous well beyond the world of sports, and he wrote several books on topics related to successful living. One beautiful credo, which Wooden said he heard from his father, is, “Make each day your masterpiece.”
Whatever we are doing today can and should be turned into a masterpiece. An ordinary day at the office does not have to be ordinary. An ordinary trip to the grocery store does not have to be ordinary. An ordinary Shabbat with the family does not have to be ordinary. With just a bit of attention, humor, positive energy and creativity, we can make everything we do truly special and extraordinary, and significantly enhance the lives of so many people – starting with our own.