Compliments That Stick

The other day a friend shared a compliment she had once been given by a complete stranger. I’ll leave it to her to post the comment if she chooses, but the fact that she remembered this lone compliment after so many years go me thinking about compliments that stick.

If you’re open to it, share a compliment in the comments section that has stuck with you over the years. Here’s mine, given to me by my mother when I was around 9 years old. We were on a family hike, and I think my parents asked me to fetch something from the car. Off I ran, darting down the path. And when I came back, I received this gift from my mother:

I framed it in my mind.

I don’t know exactly why this compliment stuck with me. Maybe there’s some pride in the way I run, but I don’t think pride had occurred to me as an option when I was 9.

I don’t know what I look like when I run. I don’t have any videos of it. I perceive myself as fast, and I like that, but my form is a mystery to me. Maybe my arms don’t move. Maybe my legs look short and weird. Maybe I prance. I really don’t know.

All I know is that on a summer day back in 1990, my mother told me that she loves the way I run. In the end, that’s all that matters.