New York. That icon of American history, personality, and moxie. The city is a melting pot of all the best and worst of what we are as America in the most elemental and profound form. Stepping from the jetway to the Uber, one feels the kinetic energy of millions of people pressed-in upon each other, spilling forth in human collision and commerce. New York is overflowing…in everything, and no matter how mundane your purposes, simply being driven into the city makes one feel like they’ve just stepped onto the stage of some incomprehensible drama. It is a city of the senses and for the senses; its ceaseless buzz administered through invisible wires directly to the brain.

Stepping onto the elevator during my first morning in the Big Apple, I was surprised by a woman on the elevator who asked, “21st floor, right?” as she pressed the 21 on the panel. Looking at her quizzically, I responded, “Yes, that’s my floor.” “Mr. Berry, right?” she said, continuing in explanation, “You checked-in last night.” Now realizing that she was the front desk person from the night before, I said, “Wow! You have an impressive memory.” She smiled as she said, “No, you’re memorable.” Then she waved as she stepped off at the next floor.

Riding the elevator up to my room, I wondered: Am I memorable? What did I do to be memorable? What is it to be memorable? This encounter made think about how we connect with others. The imprints we make, the little ways we draw closer or push one another away. For the person receiving such a statement, what effect does it have? A smile? A warmth? A touch on the heart? The sense of being seen. Of mattering, even in the smallest of ways.

Whether or not I did anything worth remembering, to bother making the comment means something. Even if someone has the unique gift of remembering such details as a name or room number, the fact that she was able and willing to bring it to bear in that moment represents great generosity. To greet someone that way is to say: “I see the Divine within you, I see your innate dignity as a human being and it is worth smiling and being generous.”

A few hours later, I was speaking to a room of professionals about mission and purpose. I spoke directly of human flourishing and the dignity of the individual, describing the duty of our organizations to see it and the opportunity for us to honor it through the services we provide. As I spoke, I remembered the young woman on the elevator and thought of the powerful stories of patients touched by our own team members who cared enough to be memorable. It is not something that can be packaged or trademarked. It can only happen one person, one encounter, one caring effort at a time.

A couple of days later, I was sitting at a restaurant in my neighborhood, enjoying breakfast with Sally. Away from the buzz of the big, big city, and safely cocooned in the peace and familiarity of home, I smiled at a familiar server as I asked for a cup of coffee. “Good morning!” she said. “Have you dined with us before?” Having dined with her on numerous occasions, my bubble of memorability instantly burst. I wondered, what makes us unmemorable?

What is passing before my eyes unseen and unremembered, every single day? Am I putting enough effort in really seeing people? What would my world look like if I saw and remembered the unseen and unremembered? I see you. I remember you. You matter. What would the world look like if we all did that?

In The Abolition of Man, C.S. Lewis describes the “Chest” as the arbiter between our higher intellect and our lower animal instincts. A well-developed Chest helps us to recognize the things that merit proper appreciation – to be moved by what is objectively good, beautiful, and true. To know that each person has God-given dignity, to see that dignity as objectively beautiful, and to share that observation reflects a well-developed “Chest.”

Are we seeing and properly valuing the people in front of us? Can we see the transcendent dignity in each human being we encounter and remember them for the beauty of that spark within? Are we able to recognize the things that merit such responses from us?

Perhaps memorability comes in both giving and receiving. Maybe the other is worth remembering and we become memorable in our effort to see them that way.