An Ordinary Magnet?

There is a small ceramic magnet on my refrigerator door.

If I had come across it at a market among hundreds of others, I probably would have walked right past it without giving it much thought. It isn’t large. It isn’t expensive. And yet it is one of the most valuable souvenirs I have ever brought home from a trip.

Every time I look at it, it reminds me of a concert in Leipzig. And of someone I had never met before.

Standing next to me was a man in his early sixties. His head was shaved except for a short, brightly colored punk mohawk down the middle. It wasn’t exactly an everyday sight.

We didn’t know each other. Every now and then, we exchanged a glance and a smile. A friendly woman stood beside him. We raised our beers to one another and waited for the concert to begin.

It could have ended there.

But it didn’t.

An Ordinary Concert?

When the concert began, I let myself be swept up in the atmosphere. I bounced to the music, sang along with the band, and the world narrowed to the songs, the moments we were sharing, and the simple joy of being right there.

Every so often, the three of us looked at one another. We sang a chorus together. We high-fived. Nothing big. And yet, something special.

There was an unusual lightness to it. That feeling of understanding someone without needing a long explanation.

Then something happened.

In the middle of the concert, the woman leaned toward me. She was holding a small ceramic magnet. She smiled and handed it to me. For a moment, I just stood there, surprised. I looked at the magnet. I looked at her. And I thanked her with my eyes.

A Story Hidden in the Palm of Her Hand

After the concert, we talked for a little while. I asked her name. She typed it into my phone: Frau Kwiatkowa. Then she showed me her hand. She had a disability.

She told me that she used to make magnets like this one. She can’t do it anymore.

In that moment, the small piece of ceramic took on an entirely different meaning. It was no longer just a souvenir from a concert. It was a piece of her time. A piece of her creativity. A piece of a life she may no longer be able to return to.

I looked at the magnet and realized how little it would have taken for this story never to happen. If I hadn’t noticed the couple beside me. If we hadn’t raised our beers. If we hadn’t sung a few choruses together.

The magnet would have stayed in her pocket.

If I hadn’t asked her name, I never would have discovered the whole story.

An Ordinary Person?

On the way home, I realized this isn’t true only of magnets. It is true of people, too.

Every person we meet carries something worth discovering. Sometimes it is a story. Sometimes an experience. And sometimes it is simply an ordinary act of human kindness.

It is up to us whether we are willing to look beneath the surface. Because we never know which conversation, smile, or seemingly insignificant encounter will become a pebble dropped into the waters of our life, sending ripples farther than we could ever imagine in that moment.

Today, when I look at the magnet, I no longer see a magnet. I see Frau Kwiatkowa. I see her partner with the colorful mohawk. I hear the choruses we sang together.

And I remind myself that most people around us are far more interesting than they first appear. There is something in every person worth discovering. And sometimes, in discovering it, we find something in ourselves that we had never seen before.

We rarely meet someone who is truly ordinary.

Petr Fuksa
Mezinárodní trenér a propagátor pétanque
Autor Online školy pétanque
E-mail: fuksa@petanque-pro-vas.com