Whatever Happened to Saying Good Morning?

I was thinking the other day, as I was walking nonchalantly along a pavement in the middle of a spring morning, minding my own business, when something unexpected happened.

I drew my eyes away from the pavement I was striding down and noticed an older gentleman. I say gentleman because he was older and well dressed. As I looked at him — and I mean really looked, as in we made eye contact — something happened. I’m not sure whether the eye contact made any difference.

“Good morning.”

He said it as he walked past.

For a brief second, I was in shock.

What did he just say? Was he talking to me? Did I know him? And why would he dare disturb my stride?

Then I felt something else. A small spark of something that actually felt pretty good.

He could have said nothing. We could have passed each other and the connection wouldn’t have existed. It wouldn’t have made any difference.

But it did.

He, a complete nobody in my existence, had actually said, “Good morning.”

A small but meaningful percentage of happiness washed over me.

I’m quite a literal person. Well, in truth, I’m a very literal person, and this inconsequential, off-the-cuff comment of “Good morning” actually made me feel better.

Was it actually a good morning?

Well, yes.

All things considered, I was healthy, I was loved and I felt good. It was a lovely morning. Spring is often, I think, the best time of the year. New life seems to be sprouting here, there and everywhere and, of course, the sun was out.

Indeed, it was a good morning.

I looked around to say thanks.

Whether thanks was actually required, I’m not sure. By then he was too far behind me to run back and, well, what would I say?

“Thanks for saying good morning”?

More likely, what I really wanted to say was thanks for making me feel perhaps 1% better. Thanks for reminding me that, actually, it was a good morning.

I decided not to chase after him.

I’m not really a runner.

And, thinking about it, maybe to him it was just a completely normal thing to say. Along with breathing and walking, perhaps saying good morning to another person was simply normal behaviour.

What If We Passed It On?

I stopped and looked around.

Has anyone actually done this?

It’s horribly called “taking stock”, but it felt more than that. I was having an epiphany. One of those what if? moments.

We live in a world where music, podcasts and everything else can enclose our hearing and attention and allow us to become increasingly alone in our own little worlds.

What if, occasionally, we took those things out of our ears and just said “Good morning” or “Good afternoon” to one person?

In all probability, it might be ignored — rather like my own initial reaction to the chance greeting of a complete stranger.

Maybe the person you say hello, hi or good morning to will stop and wonder whether they actually heard you.

But perhaps they’ll also realise that it was said with the good intention with which it was delivered.

And perhaps, like me, they’ll want to pass it on.

So I decided to adopt my new “pass it on” mindset.

So far, so good.

Although, I confess, I’m currently only targeting elderly people, who probably lived through a time when greeting someone as they passed was a perfectly normal thing to do.

G’day Mate

I may not be old, but I have experienced this sort of behaviour elsewhere.

In Ireland, for example, it’s commonplace to say “Hi”, “Good morning” or “Good afternoon”, and I rather like that.

I did, however, once fall foul of a nonchalant and decidedly non-literal greeting in Australia.

I travelled there for six months or so in my twenties, backpacking.

At one point I was renting a small bedsit that had one of the best views from a toilet I’ve ever seen.

Who puts a toilet — thankfully not connected — in a kitchen as an ornament and possible replacement for chairs?

The view was of Sydney from afar. The apartment was on a corner, halfway up a hill.

Anyway, it was in a good location.

Before going to Australia, I’d heard that “G’day” was a popular greeting.

When I say heard, I mean from the soap opera Neighbours and, more importantly, the 1980s film Crocodile Dundee. He seemed like a nice guy and, as far as I was concerned, he represented all Australians.

But after living in Sydney for several months, not one person had said “G’day”.

Not one person.

Until one day I went to a shopping centre near a waterway that involved walking along boardwalks.

A man passed me who looked remarkably like Mick Dundee.

No, he didn’t.

But he was wearing a cowboy hat.

And then he said the holy mantra of Australian phrases:

“G’day, mate.”

I was ecstatic.

This was it. The final piece of the jigsaw. I had experienced the real Australia — after seeing all the popular tourist attractions, of course.

What happened next was not my finest moment.

That particular day wasn’t actually good. Or great.

In fact, it was quite the opposite.

I’d just lost my job.

So after hearing the long-awaited “G’day”, I replied:

“Well, thanks, but I have to be honest, today hasn’t been a particularly good day so far. Thanks for asking, but the reason why…”

And then I went into full offload mode.

Looking back, I feel rather sorry for the man. I had taken his “G’day” completely literally while he gradually shuffled away from me.

At the time, though, I felt better for having offloaded.

I think part of me also felt better for informing him that, actually, how dare he impose the idea that today of all days was a bloody good day.

Of course, to him it simply meant hello.

Perhaps Hello Is Enough

Back in the UK, that encounter with the gentleman made me realise that perhaps we’ve lost some of that simple connection — just recognising another person with a “Hello”, “How are you?” or “Good morning”.

There are, of course, negative connotations. Not everyone wants to talk. Not every stranger has good intentions.

But given the option, perhaps we should practise assuming that when someone says hello or good morning, it’s meant in the spirit in which it was delivered.

Think about how it feels when somebody — often a complete stranger — simply says:

“Good morning.”

It doesn’t have to be literal.

It doesn’t necessarily mean that your morning is good.

Perhaps all it really means is:

Hello. I can see you. I’ve recognised you.

No reply required.

Just a tiny connection between two people.

And perhaps something as small as that can help you start your day with a little more optimism.

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