Are You A Go-Giver?

  Written by Amy Starr Allen on Mar 14, 2009 10:39 pm

Read More: Mindset  |  Personal Development

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"Go-Givers give. It's who they are;it's
what they do. They give in different ways
and the most effective ones give according
to their strengths."
~ Bob Burg, co-author of The Go-Giver

Have you read the book The Go-Giver? It's a
quick easy read, INCREDIBLY inspiring, and
highly recommended. If you haven't read it yet,
you can check it out (and get a free chapter)
here:

http://www.thegogiver.com/book.php

A friend sent me this story today. I thought
I'd send it along... as it's a perfect example
of a Go-Giver and the kinds of differences we
all have the ability to make for others. If
you're a Go-Giver, this story will certainly
get your emotional juices flowing...

A Cabbie's Life Work

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It
was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted
no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was also
a ministry.

Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a
moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat
behind me in total anonymity, and told me about
their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed
me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep.

But none touched me more than a woman I picked up
late one August night. I was responding to a call
from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town.
I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers,
or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or
a worker heading to an early shift at some factory
for the industrial part of town. When I arrived at
2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single
light in a ground floor window. Under these
circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or
twice, wait a minute, then drive away.

But I had seen too many impoverished people who
depended on taxis as their only means of transportation.
Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to
the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my
assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door
and knocked.

"Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice. I
could hear something being dragged across the floor. After
a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s
stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox
hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s
movie. 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. 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.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said.
I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist
the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward
the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.

"It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers
the way I would want my mother treated." "Oh, you're such a
good boy," she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked,
"Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my
way to a hospice."

I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening.

"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor
says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route
would you like me to take?" I asked. For the next two hours,
we drove through the city. She showed me the building where
she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through
the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they
were newlyweds.

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. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a
particular building or corner and would sit staring into
the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she
suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It
was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a
driveway that passed under a portico. 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.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door.
The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I
owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without
thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she
said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light.
Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a
life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove
aimlessly, lost in thought. 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?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything
more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around
great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware -
beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

"People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said,
but they will always remember how you made them feel."~ Author
Unknown

Expect Abundance,

Amy

p.s. Are you a Go-Giver? Do you want to make a huge difference
for others? It's all right here:

http://www.GoGiverSuccess.com

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