Tag: kindness
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The Simple, Old-School Acts of Kindness Our World Badly Needs
“Whatever is in memory is also in soul.” ~Saint Augustine, Confessions
Memories of my father are etched deeply in me—not for what he accomplished as a surgeon, a pilot, and an outdoorsman, but for what he was about, a truly gentle and generous man. Ironically, one of the most important lessons I learned from and about him came from a stranger.
I was alone in my family’s large Victorian-style house in the heart of the Midwest on a muggy Saturday afternoon. My mother had taken my siblings to a summer reading program at the public library, and my dad had been called to the emergency room of the local hospital. But I was not alone for long.
While watching The Game of the Week with Dizzy Dean and Pee Wee Reese, I heard a thunderous noise at the front door. The power and volume of repeated pounding frightened me. I scampered to the front entry way but was too afraid to show my face from behind the beveled glass panels of the door.
But I managed to peek outside and saw a giant of a man, dressed in mud-stained overalls, a sweaty blue long-sleeved work shirt, and a beat-up old hat—the kind that train engineers once wore. He was now wiping his hands and neck with a wadded-up red bandana, as though taking a time out before assaulting the front door again.
I froze in place, for surely this monster-man was a stranger to me. His rough features and seeming impatience made me wonder if I should answer the door at all. But soon, garnering what courage I could as a shy ten-year-old boy, I slowly pulled the heavy walnut door open just a crack, and nearly whispered, “Yes, can I help you?”
Without pause, the man bellowed with an unmistakable country drawl, “Hey, boy! Is the Docta home? I got somethin’ for him.”
Still wondering who he was or what he wanted, I meagerly replied, “No, and my mom isn’t here either.” I realized in a flash that I had violated my parents’ warning to never let anyone in the house when no one else was home. Now it was just me, a man that might be some kind of deranged mental case, and an open door between us.
“Well, son. I bet your dad is out fishin’ or somethin’. It’s a Saturday and hope he’s not workin’ cause he does too much as it is. Two months ago, my missus had to drive me to the ‘horspital’ on a Sunday because my appendix was killing me. Oh, Lord did it hurt!
“Your dad come down there in his work clothes. Before I know’d it, I was wakin’ up in a horspital room. And there was your dad standin’ at the foot of my bed tellin’ me I was gonna be fine.
“I come to his office a couple of weeks later to get a checkup. I told him I wanted to pay my bill, but things were a little thin, as the flood had ruined the corn crop that spring.
“Well, sir. He just told me not to worry about the bill at all—that he knew all about floods and droughts, and what it was like to grow up on a farm, especially in bad times. I’m tellin’ you son, that dad of yours is somethin’ special. I’ll never forget it.
“Well … now I got somethin’ here—you give it to your mom, but you tell your dad that Ole Jim from Wever dropped by. My place is down by Highway 61 near the Skunk River. He’ll know—he likes to duck hunt there in the fall.”
Before I could say a word, he bent over and slid a huge bushel basket through the front door to my feet. It was brimming with ears of Iowa sweet corn, clusters of ripe tomatoes, bunches of carrots and beets with their green tops, several large cantaloupe melons, a head of cabbage, and a large bag of green beans. And a small sunflower was tucked in the middle of this cornucopia—a perfect touch that no doubt came from Ole Jim’s wife.
Without another word, he swiveled and quickly made it to his rusted GM pickup truck and backed it down the driveway and set course out of our private lane. With the grinding of gears and belches of exhaust from the tailpipe of his pickup, he was gone. But he waved goodbye to me, as only farmers can do, with the subtle lift of his right index finger in my direction, his eyes staring straight ahead.
I was relieved he was gone and felt embarrassed by how out of place I felt with him, as our home was expensive and sat across the lane from the country club. I could tell he didn’t have much money and from the location of his farm, I knew it was “bottomland,” which was sandy soil in a flood plain—not worth all that much. But I could tell he was a proud man and had enormous respect for my dad.
Over the years I have replayed this moment with Ole Jim many times, and I’ve come to realize how much the generosity of my dad and the old farmer down by the Skunk River have affected me.
Bartering goods for services was an accepted way of doing business in an era gone by. But in today’s world of corporate medicine and mandatory co-pays, it is difficult to imagine how millions in our country get medical treatment without cash or a credit card, let alone have a costly treatment given as a gift, simply because it was the right thing to do.
I was blessed to live on my grandparents’ farm during summers, and many times I watched simple acts of kindness and home-grown goods exchanged with neighbors and townspeople. This struck me then simply as their way of life; but now I see more clearly these exchanges were also transactions of the heart. But you would never know it, as generosity was given without fanfare or notice—simply bestowed as subtly as a single index figure raised to say hello or goodbye.
My dad was like that. He never lectured me about the responsibility to treat others equally, and with respect and dignity. Nor did he draw attention to his many gestures of charity or a quiet helping hand to friends, patients, and complete strangers. But I caught him in the act many times, and often heard stories about his generosity and gentle way in dealing with others.
He simply acted with kindness and good faith to everyone he met. I am sure he was that way because it was how he was raised, not formally taught how to be his best self, but modeled in that way by my grandparents: humble, charitable, and understated—old school.
Maybe that’s the only way we can learn about what is most important in life—by example, not by books or lectures. The ineffable qualities of goodness and kindness may stream to us from our ancestors if we are lucky to have had such men and women come before us. We are doubly lucky when those qualities quietly stream through us to our children.
I am a psychotherapist and I have a set fee policy on my website. But when I can tell that a prospective client cannot pay $150/hour, I make it clear I am not in the therapy business just to make a buck. I often let the client set the fee they can afford, even if they cannot pay a dime, and then quickly move on to the work. No fuss.
In those moments, I can feel their gratitude, as well as their surprise. I often flash back to Ole Jim’s best way to express his gratitude and pay what he could afford. As for my dad, he never talked of such things, even though every now and then, a string of fish would be sitting in an old ice-chest on the back porch, or a gift certificate to the downtown rod and gun store would arrive in the mail without a name.
Such memories and lessons speak to my soul. I see more clearly today that these simple acts of kindness and generosity—so badly needed in today’s world—were indeed acts of grace. Pure, simple, and subtle, like the farmer’s wave. Old school.
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30 Ways to Be Kind: Simple Ways to Spread a Little Love
Can you remember the last time someone was unexpectedly kind to you?
I’m guessing at least some of the people in your life are kind to you on a regular basis. Or at least I hope they are! But maybe their kindness feels commonplace because it’s made up of lots of little things that they do often… like asking if you want a cup of coffee when they’re getting their own, or saying, “I love you” in that rote way we do before hanging up the phone.
Small gestures like this are always valuable and worth appreciating and acknowledging. But there’s something about an unexpected act of kindness that can jolt us awake from the trance of daily living and make us feel seen, valued, and loved.
I’ve been reflecting on kindness a lot lately since revisiting Brad Aronson’s book HumanKind (which is in itself an act of kindness, since all author royalties support the non-profit Big Brothers Big Sisters).
The book shares some truly inspiring stories about kindness and its impacts, and it’s full of simple but powerful ideas to make a positive impact in someone’s life.
It’s the kind of book that makes you want to stop whatever you’re doing and find some way to help someone else, whether that means encouraging them, supporting them, or simply believing in them when they’re struggling to believe in themselves.
So, in that spirit of giving, I decided to make a list of kindness ideas and do one a day for the next thirty days.
If you’d like to join me in spreading a little love, take this list and make it your own! Do one, do some, or do all; adapt them as you please; expand them if you feel inclined to do more, or scale some back if you want to do a little less. Any act of kindness, no matter how small, can have a massive ripple effect.
Since we can’t give from an empty cup, I started with ways we can be kind to ourselves. I then thought of some simple ways we can be kind to our loved ones, strangers (or friends we’ve yet to get to know), people online, and people who serve us.
I hope something in this list inspires you to share a little extra love today and in the days ahead!
Kindness to Yourself
1. Look in the mirror and compliment yourself on how much you’ve grown and how far you’ve come. So often we think of what we want to be and where we want to go, or what we think we’re doing wrong, and we don’t take the time to think about and appreciate all the progress we’ve already made.
2. Make a list of things you appreciate about yourself or, if this is hard, reasons someone else might appreciate you.
3. Let yourself enjoy something you usually rush or multitask—for example, savor a meal, drink your coffee in a peaceful spot, or take a mindful shower.
4. Make time for a passion today instead of putting joy on the bottom of your to-do list (if you ever add it to your list at all).
5. Validate your feelings instead of judging or shaming yourself for being angry, frustrated, overwhelmed, or anything else that doesn’t seem “positive.”
6. Check in with yourself every hour or two and ask yourself, “What do I need right now?” Then do what you can to meet that need, whether that means moving your body, taking deep breaths, or writing your thoughts and feelings in a journal. (And remember, it’s okay if you have to say no to someone else to say yes to yourself in this way!)
Kindness to Your Loved Ones
7. Think of someone who’s going through a hard time and offer to do something specific to lighten their load. It doesn’t need to be anything big or perfect. Just knowing you care enough to offer will make them feel seen and supported.
8. Write a hand-written note of appreciation to someone who’s made a big difference in your life.
9. Put your phone down when someone is talking and practice active listening—making eye contact, repeating what they’ve told you to show you understand them, and empathizing with what they’re saying.
10. See the wounded child in someone who’s lashing out emotionally and offer them an ear or a hug. (Note: by “lashing out emotionally,” I mean being testy, not abusive.)
11. Pause before you lash out emotionally to take a few deep breaths, reflect on why you’re really upset, and consciously choose how you want to respond.
12. Ask someone what their love language is—words of affirmation, acts of service, receiving gifts, quality time, and physical touch—so you can do something that’s likely to make them feel loved and appreciated.
Kindness to Strangers
13. Compliment a stranger on something non-physical—for example, compliment a mother on her patience or tell someone you love their laugh.
14. Give someone on the road or the street the benefit of the doubt. Consider that the driver who cut you off might be rushing home to deal with a crisis, or that the surly man who didn’t hold the door for you is grieving the loss of someone they love. This is also an act of self-kindness, because it keeps us from getting frustrated!
15. Help a stranger with something they’re struggling with—for example, guide them into a tough parking spot, make silly faces to help entertain a fidgety baby, and offer to take a pic when they’re trying to get a group selfie.
16. Give something you don’t use or need to a homeless person that will help them get through the winter—for example, an old coat or warm socks.
17. Leave a book that helped or inspired you in your local Little Free Library, with an encouraging note to the next reader.
18. Write a letter to an isolated elderly person to make them feel less alone or send a card to a sick child.
Kindness Online
19. Write something kind to someone who’s struggling online, whether they’ve directly shared what they’re going through or they seem emotionally reactive (which is often a sign of deep pain).
20. Disagree respectfully instead of getting annoyed or defensive or telling someone they’re wrong. For example, you could write, “Though I see things differently, I understand why you’d hold that perspective.”
21. Share a helpful resource with someone who needs it. For example, email a link to a relevant article or podcast with someone who’s seeking help or advice.
22. Leave a positive review for a product or service you’ve enjoyed—and even better, be someone’s first review to reassure them they’re making a difference, even if it doesn’t feel that way.
23. Support an online fundraiser with a small donation or contribute to a gift for a child who might not otherwise receive a holiday present, through One Simple Wish. If you can’t afford to donate, share a fundraiser for a cause that matters to you with your friends and family on social media.
24. Congratulate someone on an accomplishment they’ve shared publicly—a degree, a month sober, or even just a mental health day for someone who usually pushes themselves too hard—and include something specific about why you’re proud of them or inspired by them.
Kindness to People Who Serve You
25. Be patient with someone who’s serving you, like a barista or cashier, and tell them to take their time.
26. Put a sticky note with the words “thank you” on your mailbox to thank your mail carrier for a job well-done. If you can afford it, leave a $5 gift card to a local coffee shop.
27. Compliment someone who serves you in some way on how well they do their job, with a specific example.
28. Start a call with a customer service rep by saying, “I imagine this isn’t an easy job, so first things first, thank you for what you do and for helping me today.”
29. Note something you appreciated about a service worker’s efforts—perhaps a retail associate, flight attendant, or bank teller—and email their manager to commend their work.
30. Add a “Thank you” with a smiley face when you sign your next credit card receipt. (I usually put two exclamation points after “thank you” and make the dots the eyes for the smiley.)
If you enjoyed this list and you’re feeling all jazzed up about spreading a little extra love, I highly recommend you check out HumanKind by Brad Aronson!
He has a special stocking stuffer deal going on right now, offering the book for only $8.50 when you buy five or more, and a single copy is currently 25% off on Amazon. He’s also offering the eBook for only $.99 for a limited time.
Treat yourself to an uplifting afternoon read and keep the kindness chain going by gifting a copy to someone who could use a little light. You never know what could grow from a simple seed of kindness and love.
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Looking for a Meaningful Holiday Gift? These Stories Will Renew Your Faith in Humanity
The holiday season can be joyful, stressful, difficult, or beautiful. It all depends on what you’re going through.
Regardless of your unique circumstances, I suspect you’ll feel a little lighter and brighter after reading HumanKind: Changing the World One Small Act at a Time.
This national bestseller brought tears to my eyes. With uplifting stories of hope and kindness, it’s an antidote to all the negativity in the media and the world, and proof that small acts of kindness can have a ripple effect and transform thousands of lives.
It’s also a gift to mentoring organization Big Brothers Big Sisters (BBBS). One hundred percent of the author’s royalties go to BBBS.
You might recall that I’ve recommended this book a few times before. I particularly enjoy sharing it around the holidays, since it’s the perfect stocking stuffer, and it supports a great cause.
Author Brad Aronson was inspired to write HumanKind when his family went through one of the most difficult times of their lives. His wife, Mia, was in the middle of two and a half years of treatment for leukemia when a patient advocate suggested that Mia, Brad, and their five-year-old son, Jack, create projects to provide a purpose, a distraction, and a focus for the hours they were spending in the hospital every week.
For Brad’s project, he wrote about the small acts of kindness by friends and strangers that carried his family through Mia’s treatment and recovery.
But when he was done, he felt compelled to keep going. What about all the other stories out there? Other stories about seemingly small acts of kindness that had an extraordinary impact, often changing thousands of lives? He decided to seek them out—and those are the golden threads that weave a heartfelt tapestry in this book.
In HumanKind you’ll meet Rita Schiavone, who decided to cook an extra portion of dinner every night to feed to someone in need. Her evening ritual led to a movement that now provides more than 500,000 meals a year.
You’ll also meet Larry Stewart, who was homeless when he received a $20 gift that inspired him to become a Secret Santa when he got back on his feet. He went on to give a total of $1.5 million to strangers in need and build a team of thousands who serve their own communities as Secret Santas.
Then there’s six-year-old Gabriel, whose simple request started a global kindness movement. And these are just a few of the many ordinary heroes you’ll learn about.
HumanKind will not only restore your faith in humanity, but it will also inspire you to make your own impact. Each chapter has a “What We Can Do” section with practical tips to help you spread kindness in your daily life.
You can grab a copy here: Amazon — Barnes and Noble — 45% discount on 5+ copies here — Other retailers
If you’re looking for an uplifting stocking stuffer for your entire family, your colleagues, or employees, you can purchase 5+ copies for only $8.50 each this week. Use code “Friend” at checkout here!
I hope you enjoy this life-affirming book as much as I did!
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Why I Give Without Expectations (and Don’t Think It’s a “Toxic Trait”)
“Some of the kindest souls I know have lived in a world that was not so kind to them. Some of the best human beings I know have been through so much at the hands of others, and they still love deeply, they still care. Sometimes, it’s the people who have been hurt the most who refuse to be hardened in this world, because they would never want to make another person feel the same way they have felt. If that isn’t something to be in awe of, I don’t know what is.” ~Bianca Sparacino
I recently came across a meme that implied that helping someone who would not do the same for you is a “toxic trait.”
I’ve been thinking a lot about this meme.
At first, I could totally relate to this; it doesn’t seem fair to give of yourself, your valuable time and resources, to individuals who wouldn’t be bothered to ever do the same in return.
But then I dove a little deeper into that thought.
Friends and family in my own life have accused me of having this “toxic trait,” especially regarding how I help people who have been unkind to me; people who have cheated on or wronged me.
While it’s certainly true, on the surface, and a lot of us are probably “guilty” of giving more than we receive or giving to people who, as illustrated, “wouldn’t do the same” for us, I don’t consider this to be a toxic trait, in the worst sense.
Let me tell you why…
When my ex-husband, a man who has arguably caused the most pain and upheaval in my life and in the lives of my children and family, comes to me with a need, most everyone around me encourages me to dismiss it out of spite or “karmic balance.”
But when I don’t, and instead help when I can, they get angry with me or seem disappointed, as though I have wasted myself and my time on someone unworthy of it.
I used to have this little cross-stitch hanging on my wall that read “People who need love the most deserve it the least.” That’s always stuck with me. Best $1.50 I ever spent at a thrift shop for home décor.
All of us, at some point in time (maybe once, maybe on more than one occasion), have been the person “who would not do the same,” the unworthy one.
Let’s be honest, even the most philanthropic of us can be choosy sometimes with who we give our time, attention, money, and energy to. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, to be considerate of where you spend those treasures.
But my guess is that we all have benefitted from the kindness of someone we wouldn’t necessarily return the kindness to. But maybe we paid it forward to someone else.
If we’re living a decent life, the number of those instances will be small.
But they’re still not zero.
So when we give of ourselves, maybe unknowingly—but even better, with the knowledge that it will not come back to us—we are making a choice to give purely.
Does it sometimes drain us? Yes. And that’s certainly an aspect that needs attention; to replenish oneself in order to give is important.
But is it a toxic trait to be good to someone without the expectation of getting anything in return?
Some of history’s greatest and most outstanding human beings have done just that. Mother Theresa comes to mind, for instance.
I don’t buy into the narrative that giving is toxic, nor is giving to someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.
Genuine, truthful, selfless kindness, that’s what this world needs a little more of—with the understanding that those who are giving need to take time to replenish themselves when necessary. To help without conditions, but rather in love and compassion; that’s the type of person I am trying to make a conscious effort to be.
We should definitely take time to reboot and fill our cups back up when we need to, absolutely. But no one should be faulted for trying to do better, to be bigger, for taking the high road.
We should all be encouraged to do so.
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How Childhood Bullying Influenced How I Treat Others as an Adult
“For me, that strong back is grounded confidence and boundaries. The soft front is staying vulnerable and curious. The mark of a wild heart is living out these paradoxes in our lives and not giving into the either/or BS that reduces us. It’s showing up in our vulnerability and our courage, and, above all else, being both fierce and kind.” ~Brené Brown
Many people have experienced bullying in their lives and have possibly been a bully by association without realizing it at the time.
While the type of bullying may differ, the emotions are often the same. Bullying is never okay, and the layered pain that bullies usually possess drives how they treat others.
For me anxiety, shame, and a lack of understanding has always been present. On a regular basis, I experience pings of past bullying in my head reminiscent of the notifications that pop up on my phone.
When I reflect on my teen years, it’s the cringe-worthy moments that are the headliners. These negative experiences can stick to you like glue throughout your life.
Like every teenager, I wanted to fit in, and I wanted to feel like I belonged. Unfortunately, I never belonged where I wanted to the most.
Much of the time I felt or knew I didn’t belong, or the belonging was fake, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it. To make it just a little more complicated, I am a highly sensitive person (HSP), and at that age I didn’t understand how that impacted how I made friends and how I was treated by others.
Most of the bullying I experienced as a teen was emotional, and for a period it was physical. Standing up for myself wasn’t really in the cards as far as solutions went. I was an athlete and I lived for the sports I played. But you don’t get to choose your team, and that proved to be a dangerous reality for me.
My teammates did and said hurtful things. I’m not sure if they knew it or not, but I could hear them sometimes at practices. To this day I’m not sure if they knew that I knew; I waited on many days until I got home to fall apart. While the emotional toll has been tough, my worst memories pertain to physical bullying.
Without going into too much detail, I was targeted by teammates I thought were my friends. They picked a part of my body and thought it was funny to hit, slap, and punch me. I didn’t know what to do or how to stop it, but I didn’t stand up for myself or tell anyone that could help me either.
While the physical contact hurt, gave me headaches, and caused me to throw up, the most harmful part was that their game taught me that something was wrong with my body.
By eleventh grade, I’d developed body dysmorphia disorder, and I hid my body as much as possible. To this day sometimes my skin still burns if I feel like I’m showing too much of my body. The shame screams at me inside my head, so I cover as much skin as I can.
Earlier I wrote that it is possible to be a bully by association. Growing up, I hated when my mom said “guilt by association.” I loathe the feeling of those words ringing in my ears to this day. I didn’t stand up for myself, and I certainly didn’t have the strength or understanding that I could walk away instead of worrying about fitting in.
I can think of countless times when people who bullied me then targeted others. There were times that I didn’t say a word, times I agreed, and times I maybe laughed. I knew it was wrong. I was stuck between wanting to be accepted, not wanting to be targeted, and trying not to draw attention to myself.
I was like that in my youth, and I would get sick to my stomach about it all the time. I knew it was wrong but lacked the ability to do the right thing because of the emotional weakness that controlled me.
Knowing that I can’t go back to change those actions has made me passionate about standing up for what I believe is right as an adult. Because when you stand by, injustice just continues in a loop and things don’t change.
I don’t know if I could have changed things back then. I don’t know if simply walking away could have helped. But I know the pain from bullying may last well into adulthood and can potentially affect someone for life.
As someone who was bullied for a lot of my youth, it took me a long time to forgive myself for bullying by association. I was guilty of harming others even if I didn’t mean to.
Now, as an adult, I am more mindful of how I want to treat others. I have developed skills, become stronger, and worked extremely hard to hold my head high (which will always be a work in progress).
At the core, I believe that people are trying their best and do not set out to harm others. While I make mistakes and sometimes need to analyze my own behavior, I live my life with a high level of intention. I use kindness to help others, but also to heal from the harmful experiences in my past.
After developing a list of practices that reflect how I want to treat people, I now intentionally use my past experiences to do the following…
1. I pause to cultivate meaningful interactions and relationships. An inner mantra is “people first.” I want to make others feel like they matter and are seen.
2. I learn about the people around me, and I show my gratitude with acts of kindness.
3. I’m honest about my past experiences and struggles to help others feel validated.
4. I openly reflect with others about behaviors, actions, and mistakes that I’ve made that have harmed others. I also share how I work to do better when I make mistakes.
5. I encourage others to give me feedback and let me know if something I’m doing is hurtful or not helpful.
6. I practice patience and kindness in the moments when I feel annoyed, angry, or sad.
7. I speak up if I don’t agree with how someone or a group is being treated.
8. I exit toxic relationships faster than I used to, realizing that toxic relationships do not just harm me but those around me too.
9. I take stock of my actions and words on a regular basis to reflect on areas I can improve or how I can be kinder.
10. I no longer allow being an HSP to shame me into not being my authentic self. I work to use sensitivity as a tool to help myself and others to truly show empathy.
I know my actions may have harmed others in the past, and I will never arrive at a point where I am magically healed from the ways others hurt me. But I believe in the power of kindness and vulnerability. An important moment in my life was when I decided that I would no longer let my past dictate how I live my life. I decided not to hide who I was anymore. And when I leaned into the discomfort of the painful experiences, I started to grow.
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Why Relationships Matter Most: We’re All Just Walking Each Other Home
“We’re all just walking each other home.” ~Ram Dass
Living in the hyper-individualist society that we do, it’s easy to forget our obligation to those around us. Often in the West, we are taught to prioritize ourselves in the unhealthiest ways, to ‘grind’ as hard as we can to achieve wealth and status.
We are taught, between the lines, that our first responsibility is to create a ‘perfected‘ version of ourselves to such an extreme that it is alright to forsake our relationships with others to accomplish it.
From day one, it is embedded in us that it is our individual selves against the world. Like many others, I’d like to challenge this notion. Because what is the purpose of wealth and status if not to share it with the ones you love and who love you the most?
What is the meaning of life itself if not companionship, community, and love?
I want to disclaim, of course, that this is by no means attacking the notion of having personal external goals. Career success, physique aspirations, and other tangible objectives can absolutely be noble in pursuit and attainment.
What I would like to say is that none of those external goals will fulfill you the way that genuine human connection can—and that those goals should not be completed by abandoning your healthy relationships and support systems. And if you are thinking, “who actually does that?” this introduction is not for you.
To put it simply, life is a series of circumstances, situations, and experiences that we get reluctantly swept into (and sometimes, foolishly, sweep ourselves into). It’s just one adventure after the next, for better or worse. That sounds gloomy, but it is what makes life so beautiful—the human ability to feel a vast range of emotions within an hour and find charm in the worst circumstances.
A little over a year ago, my aunt passed. Through a blur of tears, I remember thinking about how beautiful the flowers people had sent were and how vibrantly green the grass of the cemetery was. And amidst all the despair, I remember looking around and seeing my friends.
When I think back to all the times in my life when it felt like the roof would cave in, that I had nothing left, that I didn’t know if I would be strong enough to move forward and continue on, I remember what exactly it was that pushed me forward. It was always my friends, my people. Those who almost daily not only told me that they would be there for me but showed up when I needed them the most.
Would I have survived my hardships alone? Yes. Would I prefer to do it alone? Never.
I am infinitely grateful for the community I have created for myself—the network of friends that have become family and mentors that help guide me when things seem too chaotic to untangle.
Through the gentle counsel of my loved ones, I have come to realize that there is no nobility in solitary living. There is no wisdom or bravery in taking on hardship or challenges alone when I don’t need to. Every time I forsook my loved ones to be (my distorted idea of) independent, it seemed almost like I was just adding gasoline to already growing flames. There was no more profound message beneath suffering in silence, only suffering.
And I think most of us can agree that attempting to handle problems alone feels infinitely more difficult to manage than with support. It’s part of why people seek romantic partnerships, to have someone always there to walk through the flames alongside. It’s why people invest so strongly in their loved ones in general. It is to feel heard and be seen, to hear and to see.
Part of the purpose of life, I have come to learn, is within the attempt to know someone else, to recognize yourself in another person deeply. Connection is everything we have in this world. It’s the mirror that holds itself up to us in the face of conflict with another person. It makes us think twice before buying from a brand that uses slave labor, and it’s what makes us recoil at the thought of abused animals or children.
Connection with all living beings is the deeper understanding that we are all somehow joined by our humanity. And in that, understanding that one of our primary purposes is to know and be known. To know my friends and their joys and fears and draw parallels to how they reflect my own. To walk alongside them through the difficult times and the blissful times. I recognize now that it is in the attempt to know others that I now know myself.
We are all just walking each other home. Life, at its core, is that simple.
I am walking, hand in hand, side by side, sometimes a little bit ahead or a little bit behind, with the people around me. Some of those people may walk too quickly for me to keep up, and some may move too slowly. That is when I thank them for walking me as far as they could and continue on without them, as they will continue on without me.
If the journey of life is a path we walk, then the purpose of our travel buddies is to help us navigate the storms on the road and to make the journey as funny, exciting, and comfortable as possible. If life is a journey, then the whole point of friendship, companionship, and mentorship is to just be with each other.
If I am walking you home, is my purpose not to try my best to protect, guide, and love you throughout that journey? We are all walking each other and ourselves home. And the least we can do is do our best to make that journey as beautiful, warm, and light as possible.
So many of us are falling into a spiritual trap of sorts and being wholly sucked into the hyper-consumerist and individualist mentality of the West. Some of us are actively fighting the true nature of our being, which yearns for deep and genuine connection above all else.
As you age and the world around you changes, your values begin to change. When you’re nearing your final days, when all you want is your family and friends surrounding you, will you have planted those seeds? Will you have spent time cultivating and nourishing your relationships with those around you? Will you have walked your loved ones down their path and done your best to create joy in your (and others’) journey?
The message I am trying desperately to convey here is that we need one another. We need love, and we need companionship. We need forgiveness, and we need grace. We need to be open to giving our hearts away and open to the risk of being hurt. And in that same breath, we need to do everything possible in our power to avoid hurting those around us. We need to use the path to grasp the importance of being tender with each other.
The journey of life is not easy. Take a moment and reflect on all those who have walked you in the past and all those who continue to walk you home.
Think about the connections you have made, the empathy and love you have nourished in the lives of those you care about.
And remember that at the end of the day, despite all of the problems and chaos around us, we are all just walking each other home, and we are all just trying to be better companions, one day at a time.
Dedicated to my travel companions, you know who you are.
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Trust Restored: Why I’m Letting Go of Preconceived Ideas About People
“The problems around us are only compounding. We will need to rediscover our trust in other people, to restore some of our lost faith—all that’s been shaken out of us in recent years. None of it gets done alone. Little of it will happen if we isolate inside our pockets of sameness, communing only with others who share our exact views, talking more than we listen.” ~Michelle Obama
I’m up at the American River, one of my favorite summertime spots. I have a ritual of floating down it, then hiking back up the hill to my clothes. I love how the swift current knows exactly where it’s going, making any paddling unnecessary. I love how you can just lie back and let it take you as you look up at the cloudless blue sky.
As I float, the sun beats down on my skin, but the river’s coolness counteracts its scorch. Small groups of Canadian geese speckle the shore. The air is still, its quiet punctured only by the occasional train sounding in the distance.
Once I’ve reached the bottom, I set out back towards my towel—walking along a series of dirt paths consisting of small hills. They’re quick and steep like bunny slopes, coated with golden dust that glints beneath the sunlight.
While walking them I notice two men picking fruit from a tree in the distance. Feeling exposed in my half-clothed state, I immediately tense up. I realize that having no shoes means I’ll be unable to walk quickly past.
Bracing myself for discomfort, I continue walking. As the distance between us narrows, I wait for them to whistle, or to jokingly ask if I need help finding my clothes—or create discomfort in whatever other way, be it through words or stares (as I’d become accustomed to men doing).
I walk past, armor on, shield up—raising it a little more when one of the men begins to speak.
His words are, “Hello,” followed by, “You’ve got some tough feet!”
They contain no sexualizing, nor any subtle attempt at intimidation. And in response to this comment— the kind one human would make to another, his equal—I find myself reacting with human thoughts in return:
Yes—this terrain IS pretty rugged. I guess my feet ARE pretty strong. Thank you, Sir.
**
I think about how, in Whistling Vivaldi, a black man whistles classical music when crossing paths with white strangers on the street. He does this in hopes of quelling their fear and discomfort that are born from prejudice. Implying benevolent intentions and sophistication, his whistling preemptively wards off prejudicial treatment.
Perhaps this man’s comment was the (gender) equivalent to this example—an attempt at polite conversation to keep from coming across as threatening.
Or maybe he’d briefly entertained the same thoughts that often precede the sorts of comments I’d anticipated. Maybe in the past he would have converted those thoughts into unwitting weapon words, then launched them my way. Maybe, though, because our society is growing and learning and its people are evolving, he decided that day not to.
Either way, I felt relief that the men did not behave in the way I’d predicted.
It got me thinking about preconceived ideas. How we often develop templates, then apply them to the individuals we regularly interact with. How few encounters encourage us to challenge or expand these templates, because much of our lives are structured around familiarity. And how it’s easy to take one look at a person and file them away into a specified bin inside our minds, perhaps unaware we’re even doing it.
How often do we go into an encounter with our mind already made up—both about the person and about what they could possibly have to say? Their words pass through a filter in our head, confirming what we already know or believe to be true.
Sometimes our expectations turn out to be accurate. Other times they do primarily because we expect this of them, therefore never open our minds to the possibility that we might be proven wrong.
People act in ways that contradict our initial views of them, but we don’t see it when we’re not looking for it.
When I was a Lyft driver, I drove many passengers I was sure I’d have nothing in common with. One was a seemingly straight-laced white man who worked for a tech company. I thought we’d have little to talk about, but an hour later we were eating In ‘N Out and discussing everything from our country’s quick fix approach to handling emotions to how his brother’s coming out changed their relationship to finding a balance between impactful work and a job that pays the bills.
So often we decide a person is a certain way. Our mind closes. Thereafter we do, indeed, fail to connect. But not on account of differences, but the fact that no connection is possible when the heart and mind are closed.
**
No shift in thinking takes place in a single instance. The fact that those two men at the river pleasantly surprised me, for instance, doesn’t erase the overall pattern. Many more such encounters would be necessary for a true paradigm shift.
But it’s a start. And from now on when I have the bandwidth, I want to give people the opportunity to act in ways that contradict my preconceived notions of them.
I don’t want to get to that point anymore where I stop seeing others as individuals. Where I’m blinded to what we have in common because I’m seeing only what they represent; the harm done by the larger group they belong to; the political implications of their behavior.
For instance, several years ago a young man had approached me while I was reading at a bar—and I completely ignored him. At that time I was so fed up with men, so annoyed with their repeated intrusions on my dates with women, and so frustrated that it was them who approached me in public (never women), that I just kept staring down at my book. I didn’t say anything back. In the moment it felt empowering.
When I thought about the incident years later, though, I regretted my behavior. The guy hadn’t even been aggressive in the way he’d approached me. He’d been earnest, apprehensive, even shy—the way I imagine I can also be at times when I approach women. He didn’t represent All Men; he was his own person, doing something in that moment that might have made him nervous, or pushed him out of his comfort zone.
I’m not saying it was my job to ease those feelings, or that I owed him this. It’s more that I realized that now I would have genuinely wanted to. Wanted to have at least said hi. Wanted to have at least politely told him I wasn’t up for conversation. Wanted to, maybe not have smiled, but at least treated him more like a human than an implied enemy.
I want to take my frustrations with patriarchy and heteronormativity up with the concepts themselves—and with individual humans only when they are truly practicing it.
I’d like to believe that polarized positions aren’t set in stone. That they can evolve and expand with time. That we won’t be doomed to perpetual gripping of shields while walking this planet.
This isn’t our climate right now—but I hope and wonder if one day we’ll at least start inching closer.
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An Unexpected Place to Find Kindness: What Made Me Feel Like I Belong
“Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.” ~Mother Teresa
Routines are important to me. I rely on certain things to bring me back home to myself; to feel clear and open in my mind, body, and heart.
One of the activities that bring steadiness to my life is swimming. It’s one of my greatest pleasures. There is something magical to me about the feeling of water on my skin, the repetition of the arm strokes that calm my mind, the sound of my breath that relaxes my body, and the rays of sunlight that reflect off the water.
I rely on swimming three mornings a week. I like to say it gets me back in my lane or it keeps me out of the others’ lanes.
I showed up to my local pool several weeks ago—pool closed due to mechanical issues.
It was just supposed to be for a few days. I told myself that it was a gift to give my body a rest from swimming. Over the next few days, I told myself that this time allowed me to help a loved one who needed extra care. But as more time passed, I couldn’t find a reason to find peace without swimming. I missed it.
I found another pool a bit farther away from my home. Though I felt irritated that I had to go to another pool and create a new routine, I chose my love for swimming over any of the inconveniences.
After my first swim, an employee ran over to me and said, “I’d like to introduce myself and welcome you to our pool. It’s wonderful to have more lap swimmers here.” We connected over our love for swimming.
I left feeling a little more cheerful than I usually do after a swim, and I am already pretty cheerful after swimming.
I came back the following week, and after finishing my swim was greeted by the water aerobics women. As I got out of the pool, they chatted with me about swimming and how they want to learn to do laps.
Over the next few weeks, I began to notice that every time I left swimming, I was a bit more cheerful.
One morning, as the aerobics women came into the pool, I noticed that they greeted each other with hugs and kisses (yes, in the pool at 9:00 a.m.). I asked the lifeguard, “Does this always happen?”
He replied, “Sure does.”
In the locker room women hum songs, tell me to have a blessed day, and chat with me about all sorts of things as I shower. I don’t know anyone personally, and yet they are undeniably kind and warm to me.
Just this past week a woman belted out in the locker room I AM BEAUTIFUL. I couldn’t help but feel completely overjoyed at this women’s confidence and radiance.
I have been noticing how I’ve been feeling after swimming, and I have become curious about what’s contributed to the fact I haven’t checked if my pool has reopened.
It’s the women. It’s the kindness. It’s the singing. It’s the joyful greetings. It’s the curiosity.
While I only know two women by name, they know even less about me and how the things they have been doing for many years have been bringing an extra dose of cheer into my life.
It has not been easy for me living in a neighborhood that is known for intergenerational legacies of families living here. I didn’t come from this neighborhood. Even though I have been here for eighteen years, feeling like I fit in has been a private struggle that I don’t often share with others.
In this pool, a short drive from my home, in another neighborhood, I have found a place that I need more of in my life.
We all want to find our people; we all want to belong.
Sometimes we don’t actually know how much pain we hold until we are blessed with the one thing that has been missing—kindness.
And with that kindness, the protection starts to soften and the hurts come to the surface. We realize that’s just what our heart was holding all of these years.
In my mind, I’ve known the story of the past eighteen years of living in a place I don’t really feel like I fit.
I’ve worked with the beliefs. I’ve taken responsibility for what is mine to learn, heal, and grow from. I’ve also come to accept that this was what life gave me and that even in not feeling like I belong, there have been tremendous gifts and blessings these past years.
But it is also true that we need to give words to our truth. I want to belong. It is a human birthright to belong. We are designed to belong to groups of human beings.
We see people through our own lens and make up stories about them that aren’t necessarily true. I am grateful that these women at the pool didn’t make up a story about me and instead treated me with kindness.
They could have easily made up a story about me. They are black, and I am white. They know I am not from their neighborhood, but instead, they saw past what I looked like and opened their hearts to me. They sang to me in the shower, blessed my day with prayers, and wished me well for the rest of my day.
None of us know the story of someone’s insides. None of us know how simple acts of kindness and inclusion can make someone feel like they belong.
Sometimes the people that we least expect to make a difference in our lives do. We are all capable of this.
We all live with a protected heart in some ways; none of us are free from hurts. If I hadn’t sat with the pain of not belonging and feeling disappointed in past relationships, my heart may have been impenetrable. I had to learn to be there for myself with kindness before I could allow others to be there for me. I think this is true for all of us.
Sometimes the simple gesture of placing your hand on your heart and saying to yourself, “I am here for you” is a great act of kindness and allows the unexpected joys of life to be felt when you least expect them.
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I’m Kelly and I’m a Heroine Addict: Why I Get My Fix from Fixing People
“Self-will means believing that you alone have all the answers. Letting go of self-will means becoming willing to hold still, be open, and wait for guidance for yourself.”―Robin Norwood, Author of Women Who Love Too Much
My drug of choice is not the kind of heroin one shoots in their veins. My drug is the kind of heroine that ends with an e—the feminine version of hero.
When I help someone, and they are grateful for the gifts I offer, my brain fizzes with a cocktail of oxytocin, serotonin, and dopamine, resulting in a “helper’s high” I ride through town like a homecoming queen on a float, waving a gloved hand, blowing air kisses at admiring fans.
There is no accident these two words, heroin and heroine, look and sound so much alike because they strangely have more in common than you might think: They are both highly addictive, both more destructive than the user realizes, and both leave a trail of collateral damage.
According to the twelve steps, we stand a chance at recovery only if we can admit we are powerless over our addiction and that our lives have thus become unmanageable… so this is my coming out party. I figure by making this public declaration, I won’t be as tempted to sneak back to my old ways.
My painful revelation was delivered to me on a cinematic silver platter, while driving with someone incredibly close to me—let’s call her Chloe. She was desperate to find a place to live… that is until I’d swooped in on my noble steed, found her a hidden gem of an apartment, vouched for her, and landed her the deal of the century.
Instead of being met with the gratitude I expected (and secretly craved), I was devastated by her volcanic rage. She spewed, causing me to nearly drive off the road.
What crime did I commit, you ask? The week earlier, she had called me, and I had the audacity not to hear my phone ring. In fury, she screamed about how I had set her up to need me, depend on me, and think of me as her savior. And then, when she needed me most, my phone’s ringer was off, leaving her alone to flail in pain, cursing the water I once walked upon.
In my defense, I never (consciously) promised Chloe I’d be her forever rescuer. Little acts of service became the gateway drug to more elaborate feats that took immense effort and a toll on my own life. I somehow imagined one day I’d receive a smiling postcard from her, telling me my services were no longer required because of how brilliantly her life turned out (thanks to me)… but that hasn’t happened (yet).
How did I co-create such an epic fail?
Hitting rock bottom with my “disease to please” sent me on a search-and-rescue mission of my past to discover the genesis of my addiction. My detective work led me, surprise, back to childhood.
As the eldest of five, I was awarded points from my well-meaning parents for doing big-sisterly things, such as treating my siblings like they were my babies, teaching them to tie their shoes, showing them how to swing a softball bat, and how to combat bullies.
I was raised believing it was my job to take care of them, and I proudly accepted that mantle. It empowered me; it made me feel important.
But what I didn’t realize was that while I was getting puffed up like the Goodyear blimp with praise, soaring higher with every pat on my back, some of the victims of my heroism were becoming progressively weakened. It was as if my efforts sent the unconscious message that they were broken and crippled and, without me, incompetent.
As I struggled to more deeply understand my heroine addiction, I sought the counsel of a friend who said, “Your struggle is a microcosm of a global issue. For example, the US has funneled over 500 billion dollars to Sub-Saharan Africa (to mitigate starvation and famine), only to make the situation worse when they pulled out.” He continued, “In spite of good intentions, if the giving is a handout, not a hand up (giving fish instead of teaching how to fish), it’s unsustainable, exacerbating—not curing—the problem it set out to fix.”
Even though I extended my support without conscious strategy or agenda, I hurt people more than I helped.
So, what is the solution?
It isn’t as simple as no longer helping people. It’s like being an overeater who can’t just swear off food. If I had an actual heroin addiction, my job would be to cease injecting the drug in my arm. But even Abraham Maslow taught that service is near the top of his hierarchy of needs, and I’ve certainly been a grateful receiver of people’s kindnesses.
This is clearly one of life’s “can’t live with it, can’t live without it” conundrums. Perhaps I just have to figure out how to do “service” differently.
So, as a newly sober heroine addict (an energy vampire cloaked behind a superhero cape), convulsing in withdrawals as I seek to live on the razor’s edge between serving and savior-ing, here are my marching orders, thus far. Just for today (and hopefully every day after), I will:
1. Fire myself from the job I unwittingly accepted (too enthusiastically) as a little girl: to be everyone’s big sister.
2. Admit I have a problem and that I am powerless over saving, fixing, and controlling people.
3. Give up the belief that I know best on how others should live their lives.
4. Refrain from getting my fix by fixing people, searching for God in all the wrong places.
5. Make ruthless compassion my replacement addiction, in the way heroin addicts safely detox using methadone or suboxone.
Ruthless compassion, by the way, is the unwillingness to see another as broken or inadequate, but instead as innately whole and complete, regardless of what they’ve been through or what they believe to be true about themselves.
6. Practice “For Fun and For Free”—this twelve-step motto is about only giving to others from surplus bandwidth (time, money, and energy) unless it’s a true emergency.
7. Tattoo my brain with my new personal prayer (a mashup of The Serenity Prayer and the lyrics to Kenny Roger’s “The Gambler”):
God grant me the serenity…
to know when to hold ‘em,
when to fold ‘em,
when to walk away
and when to run.If you relate to my story, I hope this will help you with your hero or heroine addiction. But if it doesn’t, that’s okay. Because, through the lens of my new Ruthless Compassion sunglasses, I see you are more than capable of finding your own answers, thankfully without any excess do-gooding from me.
