Why is kindness often perceived as a weakness, a question that comes up time and time again. There seems to be a threat attached to it, like some kind of lethal weapon making its opponents twitch with decided discomfort.
I like to give, having it instilled in me as a little girl. Not by my parents mind you, who were anything but generous, but a grandfather who was.
He taught me life was about sharing, helping, giving what you have. And if there’s no money in your pocket, quite often a kind word will do.
Kindness is also the finest fixer for what ails you, service taking you right out of yourself plucked from your troubles, plugging, what writer Anne Lamott calls, those Swiss Cheesey holes.
Receiving is in the giving, as St. Francis said, knowing first hand, it’s true.
When someone called me the sweet little deaf girl on the 5th floor who needs to be liked, it didn’t make me cry as much as feel sorry the sincerest of actions could be interpreted this way.
Sad really. I give with no expectations, no looking back, leaving no bill beneath the door.
My choice? Now when I see this person who’s elderly and feeble, do I pass her by with my back up like a pissed off cat? Or do I still say good morning, how are you today…is there anything that you need?
I’ll admit, since her outburst, take pause…
but, it’s only for an instant.