ONE day during rush hour, the jazz pianist George Shearing, who had been blind since birth, found himself at a busy New York intersection, waiting for someone to help him across the street.
After waiting patiently for several minutes, he was tapped on the shoulder. It was another blind man, seeking similar assistance. What did Shearing do?
“What could I do?” Shearing later said. “I took him across – and it was the biggest thrill of my life!”
Sometimes, you just have to have the faith to step out into life blindly.
The great architect Frank Lloyd Wright recalled that as a nine-year-old boy he went for a memorable walk in the snow with a reserved, no-nonsense uncle.
As they reached the end of a snow-covered field, his uncle stopped him. “Notice how your tracks wander aimlessly from the fence to the cattle to the woods and back again,” he said. “And see how my tracks aim directly to my goal. There is an important lesson in that.”
There was a lesson. But not what the uncle thought.
Years later, Wright remarked that this experience had had a profound influence on his life. “I determined right then,” he explained, “not to miss most things in life, as my uncle had.”