Years ago, I was grocery shopping when a man approached me. "I just have to tell you," he said, "my mother just died. I was so sad when I came to this store, and when you smiled at me back there, it lifted me more than you will know. Thank you."
I never forgot that man and what he taught me about small kindnesses.
A recent New York Times article, "The Unexpected Power of Random Acts of Kindness," highlights recent research that show just how impactful a small gesture can be. The research also shows that we also tend to underestimate the power of such gestures, and so maybe don't perform them as often as we'd like. “We have this negativity bias when it comes to social connection. We just don’t think the positive impact of our behaviors is as positive as it is,” said Marisa Franco, a psychologist and author quoted in the article. She also thinks we tend to overthink or stress out about being kind. “It’s not about you being like, ‘Oh man, now I have to learn how to bake cookies in order to be nice. It’s about: What skills and talents do you already have? And how can you turn that into an offering for other people?”
Still not totally convinced that a small act of kindness can be a big deal? Listen to the podcast, "My Unsung Hero." These 3-5 minute stories from Hidden Brain Media are recorded by readers/listeners. “Each episode reveals what the news ignores: everyday acts of kindness and courage that transformed someone’s life.” You can even submit your own story.
And forgive me if I've posted this poem before, but it fits today's theme so beautifully:
Small Kindnesses
By Danusha Laméris
I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead — you first,” “I like your hat.”