I need some paint for touch-ups on my kitchen cabinets and my kitchen guy said to take a cabinet door to the paint store. “Ask them to match it,” he said, “and make sure you get a paint with no catalyst.”
I haven’t a clue about the catalyst part and confess this to the man behind the counter. He frowns and seizes this opportunity to display his expertise—in such technical terms that I’m more confused than ever.
Afraid to ask for clarity, I agree on a paint. Then, at the cash register, my curiosity returns and I try again. “What does a catalyst do, anyway?” And for some reason the expert has a change of heart and tells me in friendly, layperson’s language that a catalyst makes a paint harden faster, makes it more durable.
And as I hand over my money, I think about how everyone is an expert about something—and when asked to share has a choice whether to be condescending or generous.
My yoga teacher finds a way of making every inquiry a gift. “What a great question!” she says and weaves the answer into our activities as if it was planned. “Thanks for asking!”