Many years ago, I was flying back to Memphis through Minneapolis and my inbound to Minneapolis was late.  I had already missed my connection but knew there was a later flight to Memphis that I might catch.

I was worried because I had what then seemed like a particularly important meeting in Memphis the next morning.  And I was very tired.  I don’t recall what the purpose of my trip was, but I do remember that it had been grueling.

We finally landed in Minneapolis and taxied, excruciatingly slowly, to the gate. When I got off the plane, I discovered that my possible connecting flight to Memphis was several concourses away and it was nearly time for the flight to leave.

Hoping for the best, I pulled my folding travel bag over my shoulder, grabbed on to my huge briefcase full of documents, and proceeded to navigate to the distant gate as fast as possible.

As I approached the gate, I saw and heard a passenger yelling at the gate attendant, disparaging her, the airline, and anyone or anything else he could think of.  He raised his voice, arms gesticulating, and continued to yell at the attendant. He then turned to me and did the same thing.

I can’t remember exactly what went through my mind, but it was probably something reflecting my frustration and impatience, like: “Will you just hurry up and do your business? I can’t do anything until you’re gone!”

What he thought I might be able to do to help I’ll never know. I just shrugged. He turned one last time to the attendant, yelling at her again, and then stormed off to wherever he went.

I walked up to the attendant and said hello. I then said something like this, as kindly as I could: “Well, based on what I just saw and heard, I guess I’ll be spending the night in Minneapolis.  I’m sorry you had to endure that guy’s tirade.”

She looked at me, smiled and said, “Let me see your ticket, please.”  I gave her my then paper ticket.  She took it and with her eyes on the keyboard, tapped through the many routines necessary back in those days to do whatever she was up to.  She seemed to be trying to do something, so I just stood there quietly.

She then looked up at me and smiled, reaching for the printer.  She pulled off a new ticket, handed it to me, and said: “Welcome aboard, Mr. Mercer.”

I took the ticket, collected my folding overnight bag, grabbed my heavy briefcase, and said to her: “I don’t know what you just did, but I appreciate it very much!  Thank you!”

Her parting words as I walked by were: “Have a nice flight, Mr. Mercer.”

Sitting down in my seat on that late-night flight to Memphis, I felt a wave of gratitude, appreciation, and relief.

I was going to sleep in my own bed that night. I’d start the next day at least reasonably fresh. And yes, I’d make that important meeting.

But over time, I’ve come to realize that the meeting wasn’t the most important part of that trip. In fact, I don’t even remember what it was about.

What I do remember, and clearly, all these years later, is that brief moment at the gate.

At that stage of my life, I was very much in “building value” mode. Focused. Driven. Moving from one obligation to the next. Like most people in that phase, I was often in a hurry, and likely more transactional than I would have liked to admit.

That night, I had every reason to be frustrated, impatient, even a little short with the person standing between me and getting home.

Instead, I simply chose to be… decent.

Not extraordinary. Not strategic. Just decent.

And in return, I was reminded of something that has stayed with me ever since:

How we treat people, even in small, fleeting moments, has a way of coming back to us in ways we don’t expect and can’t plan for.

That’s a different kind of value. Not the kind you measure on a balance sheet, but the kind you carry with you. The kind that shapes your days, your relationships, and ultimately, how you experience your life.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to appreciate that more and more.

We spend so many years focused on building value in our careers, businesses, assets. And those things matter. But at some point, the focus shifts, or at least it should.

Living the value we’ve built often comes down to something much simpler than we expect.

Mom was right, of course.

“Chris, just be nice.”

It turns out that’s not simply good advice for getting through a long day of travel. It’s a surprisingly good way to move through life, and, I think, a meaningful part of aging gratefully.

As always, be well, and age gratefully.

Chris