Recently, I stayed at a magical, wonderful place called The Greenbrier. It happens to be the most perfect, polite, sparkling place I have ever had the pleasure of staying in, and I don't think I'm exaggerating.
The point of this post is not necessarily to gush about this place –although gushing may commence at any second, and without previous notice, so please be wary.
The point is, it's the details that count.
When we first arrived, everywhere you looked the paint was perfect. The stripes on the wall were perfect. The wallpaper was (almost) perfect. Everyone was friendly but just to the right degree– not too cloying and not too unctuous.
Goldilocks would have definitely approved.
But the clincher was this small chandelier. It was the chandelier in our room, and I got to see it every time I fell asleep. And as you can see, it was small but sumptuous and polished to a sparkling shine. And this was just one room in an otherwise enormous hotel.
In life, we tend to forget the details. We listen to others' stories but we seldom actually recall what was said (Something about a fight? Something about picking up supplies at the drugstore? Eh.)
They are tedious. I don't want to think about being the one who dusts those light fixtures, but someone does and they take pride in it.
Make it an exercise to pay attention to details tomorrow. It could be a fun day.
(Or it could be an interminable heap of petty crap suddenly shoveled your way. If that is so, I apologize and please carry on not noticing.)