My day is filled with dozens of small kindnesses. They begin in the few sleepy moments after a belated April sunrise: a stranger offers me a smile, the cloud of his frozen breath practically palpable in the incongruously chilly air. He winces as a particularly bitter gust of wind batters the double doors that he has propped open, even though I am thirty, twenty nine, twenty eight steps away, even though his legs are scarcely, ludicrously clad in a pair of running shorts. “Thanks,” I say, my voice smothered by the scarf I have pressed to my face.
“No problem.” And then he is gone, subsumed into the crowd of underclassmen whose names I have not bothered to learn.
There is no easy definition for kindness, at least not one that does not rely on a host of synonyms — “nice” or “sweet” or “thoughtful.” And yet, I have had an innate understanding of kindness since a classmate told me, in our second grade gym class, that he was excited to have me on his relay race team. I see kindness in the girl who says she likes my shoes in the hallway, in the boy who hands me the calculator I have dropped. These acts are ordinary, even mundane, but they have a profound impact on my mood throughout the day. I feel visible and empowered, flattered and important; I feel, in a word, respected.
There is a certain level of truth imbued in the notion of kindness, an authenticity that separates it from the hollow platitudes of polite society. When someone looks into your eyes as you speak, when someone extends a friendly greeting as you brush by in the stairwell, they act as though you matter, as though you have value and a right to be heard. Simple gestures of civility foster the basic human dignity to which we are all entitled, the courtesy that, by virtue of our mere being, we all deserve.
We are social creatures by nature; though our existence does not and should not depend on the validation of others, it nevertheless remains an important component of our personal lives. External perceptions do not define us, but we are still acutely aware of the sharp disparity between judgment and acceptance. We demand to be seen, not analyzed; we crave understanding, not unjustified criticism.
Perhaps you know of someone who sits alone in the lunchroom — offer him a seat at your table. Perhaps you notice a freshman struggling to log into a library computer — give her the school login code. Begin a conversation, establish a bond, pave the way for positivity. Seemingly trivial acts such as these can have a potent impact, brightening not only someone else’s day, but your own.
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