How Did I Get Here?
“Hi. How are you today?”
The question caught me off-guard. It came from a young woman with Down Syndrome in Walmart.
She was with her mother, looking at me with an off-center but beautiful smile, clearly waiting for an answer.
At the time, I was thinking very important thoughts like: where is the unsalted chicken stock, did I give the pharmacy enough time, and what was that other thing…? Oh I need chocolate chip cookie dough!
But she interrupted those very important thoughts with an innocent question and a bright smile.
A Smile in Aisle Five
I started to toss my response over my shoulder and keep moving. “I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”
Then she did something that stopped me in my tracks.
The Power of a Simple Question
She changed the formula for normal interaction. She smiled again, showing all her teeth, and reengaged me.
“Are you having a good day?”
Well, that kind of stopped me in my tracks.
Was I having a good day?
I took a quick inventory. I’d just had a nice breakfast at my favorite place, with my favorite server, and my favorite person. Those are all good things. So, I certainly wasn’t having a bad day. I guess that made it a good day.
I smiled back and answered, “Yes, I am having a good day. Thank you for asking.”
She very politely responded, “You’re welcome.”
I didn’t expect that either. It made me smile a little more.
Her mother, who had been bent over inspecting something on a shelf, looked up and caught grokmy eye with a tired expression that said, “She does this all the time.”
I wondered how many people think that, brush her off, and keep going?
That’s when it really struck me.
She does this all the time.
She made my day a little better, a little brighter. She made me smile. She changed one person’s day for the better – and that one person was me.
She made a difference.
Kindness in the Wake of Tragedy
That was a terrible week. We were so wrapped up in other events that many of us barely noticed 9/11 passing us by. We barely honored the memories of those killed on September 11, 2001.
It didn’t hold the same solemnity for me as it has in previous years – and that shames me.
Why?
It was the week Charlie Kirk was assassinated, and that got all the news.
It’s hard to believe it’s been 24 years. For those of us old enough to remember, the horror of that day changed our world. It changed all of us in America.
I remember how it made us kinder toward one another.
- So many rushed to donate blood that they were asked to come back later.
- Over 200,000 units of blood were destroyed because they expired.
- The American Red Cross added 57,000 new volunteers.
- We rushed to join the military.
- Volunteerism spiked.
We greeted one another on the streets with kindness and compassion. For a while, we were no longer strangers. We were extended family that just hadn’t met yet.
America was one family. A family grieving our collective loss with a shared shattered and broken heart.
We were the United States of America.
From Unity to Division
Here’s what I don’t understand:
How did we become a nation where we would rather spew hatred at one another over the internet than try to find one inch of common ground?
Regardless of where you land on the political spectrum, or how you felt about Charlie Kirk – his work, beliefs, goals, politics, or faith – I don’t think anyone can deny the firestorm that has spun up from his murder.
I’m not looking for anyone to blame. I’m not looking for a scapegoat. This isn’t about left and right, liberal and conservative, Democrat and Republican.
It’s not about which hate labels we can paste on one another.
At this point, I don’t think it matters anyway.
Choosing Kindness Over Conflict
Here’s what does matter:
“We’re living in a powder keg and giving off sparks.” —Jim Steinman / Bonnie Tyler
The temperature is rising, and too many people on both sides are stoking fires.
What matters is what we can do to find common ground, to bring the temperature back down, and to remember that we are united states.
There’s a common law in every country in the world. Call it moral law, man’s law, God’s law, America’s law – whatever you want:
Murder is wrong.
And it shouldn’t be a rallying point for celebration.
Just like using someone’s freedom of speech against them to get them fired isn’t the right response either.
We don’t need to be those people.
I will not be that person.
I still have opinions. And I’m sure there will be times when I have teeth marks on my tongue from trying to keep my mouth shut.
But I am stepping out of the political dialogue.
I will no longer participate in the rhetoric and hate.
I will only lift up.
I will only be a positive influence on those around me.
I choose to create common ground – even if it’s only one inch at a time.
The Birth of a Continuum
The days after 9/11 were mind-numbing. I will never forget. Among those of us who remember, how can we forget?
There’s a collage of scenes in my memory:
- Being on the phone with my sister just after the first plane hit
- No concept of the scope yet and a naïve belief it was a mistake
- Then the second plane hit and hanging up with my sister
- The towers collapsing
- The news, always the news
- New Yorkers walking in shock, covered in dust
- Late night television cautiously returning to help us laugh again
The events of 9/11 were horrific. The acts were despicable. The true meaning of the word atrocity was defined that day; as was the word hero.
NYPD, NYFD, Flight 93
Men and women. Civilian and service. Young and old. Without regard to race, religion, or political ideology. Heroes came in every stripe, every shape, every denomination, every ability or disability, and every taste in musical genres. Ordinary people who woke up on an ordinary day to extraordinary circumstances and rose above the people they thought they were at the start of the day.
None of them woke up that morning with the burden of the decision about whether to become a hero or not weighing heavily on their minds. No one on flight 93 boarded that plane with the idea that she or he would quite possibly save the American government from almost unthinkable catastrophe, yet they did without hesitation. Those terrified, but heroic men and women saved us all that day.
There were everyday heroes as well. Heroes who fed shell-shocked New Yorkers, handed out bottles of water, and comforted those who barely knew who they were, much less where they were going. The first responders who ran toward instead of away.
Do you remember the pictures of traumatized New Yorkers walking away from the World Trade Center covered in ash, with only the whites of their eyes showing, carrying brief cases? Did you notice everyone was the same color? There was no black, white, brown, Asian, Hispanic. African. The ash colored everyone the same. It colored everyone American regardless of heritage or birthplace.
They were all the same, hurting, grieving, devastated, searching. WE were all the same. We were all New York suddenly. We were all NYPD. We were all NYFD. We were all hurting, grieving, aching, empty, searching, and so much more.
We were all the walking wounded.
The strangest things happened. Firefighters planted a flag like Iwo Jima. The mayor of New York became America’s mayor. The President became a unifier, reminding us of the better angels of our nature.
Instead of demoralizing us and bringing America to its knees in terror, the terrorists woke a sleeping giant and we became something new. They reminded us that we are Americans, united under one banner; they reminded us that our flag was indeed still there.
They led us directly to an unexplainable kindness toward one another those terrorists could have never predicted. Instead of dividing us and driving us into cold and dark pockets of fear. Those wicked men awakened the very best in us.
I believe that best is still there.
I saw it the other day in the unassuming smile of a young woman with Down Syndrome when she said:
“Hi. How are you today?”
I was changed by it when her mother looked at me with that expression that said: “She does this all the time.”
If she can make a difference one person at a time, why can’t I?
There’s no reason I can’t.
That’s the negative way of saying: I can. And I will.
I will be kind.
I will be kind to every single person I see.
I will go out of my way to be kind to you.
I will say a kind word to you – even if it’s just one – and I will smile at you.
I will be kind to the people I don’t want to be kind to because we currently have an unkind relationship.
It will be hard, but I will be kind anyway.
My face will hurt from smiling because I am kind.
Too many times, I use my introversion as an excuse not to engage in niceties. I allow myself to be brusque, and it can come across as callousness.
I’m not good at small talk – and that really is an introvert thing – but I’m not going to hide behind it any longer.
I’m going to overcome it.
I-will-be-kind.
That’s it. That’s my way of changing the world around me.
I will be kind.
I will no longer give off sparks.
I will not fan any flames.
I am going to create an island of kindness around me. I will carve it out of the ocean of rage surrounding me one inch at a time and rather than the ocean over coming my island, my island of kindness will grow.
Someday, my island will become an archipelago, then a peninsula; eventually maybe my island will even become a continent.
One kind person at a time.
You’re invited to join me. There’s plenty of room.
Welcome to the Continuum of Kindness
“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Against such things there is no law.” —Galatians 5:22–23
Continuum of Kindness 