Random Act of Kindness
After my grandfather died, I was depressed. I remember being consciously aware of and acutely annoyed by the fact that life goes on. I can remember driving to work in the mornings or the evenings amidst so much traffic wondering how in the world all these insensitive assholes around me could just continue with their insignificant lives as if nothing had happened. Yes, me, mid-twenties, center of the universe.
My grandfather, although he died at a ripe old age, was taken too soon. He was victim to an entirely avoidable accident, something that he had, in fact, actively sought to prevent, through phone calls of complaint to a large company that did not respond to his concerns. It seemed very unfair (and somewhat ironic).
One morning on the way to work, I was particularly distraught and crying. I was totally caught up in myself when I noticed, mid-sob, a truck traveling next to me. In this truck was a wrinkled old man, about my grandfather’s age. He looked Mexican, in a very dark, rooted, Aztec way. He had grey hair, bushy eyebrows, and deep laugh lines around his mouth.
He kept his car at pace with mine and looked intently at me, beaming. He nodded at me and put his hand up to his face. He tapped at his chin with his index finger, then mouthed one word to me:
“Smile.”
As if it were as simple as that.
He looked at me with so much seemingly genuine compassion and understanding that I almost felt naked. And somehow, at the same time, he also managed to give me the idea that I was a complete idiot to be blathering on about whatever it was, when I probably needed to just get over it. I felt understood and ridiculous, acknowledged and absurd, all at the same time.
And it was right about that time, quite precisely, that I did get over it. Or at least I decided that it was time to stop wallowing in it.
Good on him, the old man, for doing such a wonderfully simple, good deed. It was a truly random act of kindness. He would never be acknowledged for it. But he did it anyway. He took an extra five seconds to communicate with a complete stranger, to coach me on happiness, and then he just drove away.
And what a huge difference it made to me.
_____________________
(This entry was inspired by Andrew and his theme week: random acts of kindness).
My grandfather, although he died at a ripe old age, was taken too soon. He was victim to an entirely avoidable accident, something that he had, in fact, actively sought to prevent, through phone calls of complaint to a large company that did not respond to his concerns. It seemed very unfair (and somewhat ironic).
One morning on the way to work, I was particularly distraught and crying. I was totally caught up in myself when I noticed, mid-sob, a truck traveling next to me. In this truck was a wrinkled old man, about my grandfather’s age. He looked Mexican, in a very dark, rooted, Aztec way. He had grey hair, bushy eyebrows, and deep laugh lines around his mouth.
He kept his car at pace with mine and looked intently at me, beaming. He nodded at me and put his hand up to his face. He tapped at his chin with his index finger, then mouthed one word to me:
“Smile.”
As if it were as simple as that.
He looked at me with so much seemingly genuine compassion and understanding that I almost felt naked. And somehow, at the same time, he also managed to give me the idea that I was a complete idiot to be blathering on about whatever it was, when I probably needed to just get over it. I felt understood and ridiculous, acknowledged and absurd, all at the same time.
And it was right about that time, quite precisely, that I did get over it. Or at least I decided that it was time to stop wallowing in it.
Good on him, the old man, for doing such a wonderfully simple, good deed. It was a truly random act of kindness. He would never be acknowledged for it. But he did it anyway. He took an extra five seconds to communicate with a complete stranger, to coach me on happiness, and then he just drove away.
And what a huge difference it made to me.
_____________________
(This entry was inspired by Andrew and his theme week: random acts of kindness).
Comments