A Stranger's Act of Kindness

I've often asked myself, why not?

It’s amazing how many things this question applies to and yet what’s even more fascinating is how often we shut this voice up in the negative or in the form of ‘next time’. Well, at least, for me that’s how it is. Today was just like any other day. The sun came up, the earth was still revolving, etc. there was nothing special about the day, other than the possibility of seeing people I cared about. But isn't that an everyday hope and expectation?

My point is, it was a normal day, but somehow I don’t think I’ll forget it any time soon.

We never really remember, fully, the kindness of others. It’s too quickly forgotten these deeds that have impacted our lives in ways we would never understand. However, just because these acts will sooner or later be forgotten, should we then never initiate them? I shudder to imagine a world where this is the chosen answer.

I am no innocent in this regard. I have received kindness, in one way or another, in a small way or a largely obvious one. But if you were to ask me the details of what, when, whom? I would not be able to tell you. 

Sure there are some that stand out, but even then I could not say with certainty the accuracy of the recollection, however that does not mean I was unaffected by it. Why else, despite my very many experiences to the contrary, do I find myself able to see hope in the human race?

The kindness I have received has changed me in ways I might not even be aware of, but also that I don’t mind. And why not let that change me? Why not?

But kindness isn't always without its troubles, giving it or receiving it. Good upbringing dictates to us as children to never take gifts from strangers, and with good reason. A helping hand has proven too often to belong to untrustworthy intentions. Kindness has been the unfortunate tool, tightening the strings on unsuspecting puppets.

But it isn't only our upbringing that makes kindness so suspect. Most damning reasons of all are cultivated as we grow and watch the world around us, a world where kindness is made a symbol of mockery and deceit. A trait viewed as weakness and unjustifiable cowardice. A ‘thing’ to be avoided least you wish yourself isolated, tormented or worse, killed.

How can one not question any kindness given by a stranger then, when every fibre of your learned experience tells you to run the other way or more deviously, take what you can and disappear?

Kindness then falls into the danger of endangerment, leaving nothing for hope to be born from or life to be learned from. That is until a stranger passes by and reminds just one soul of its existence, hoping against hope that its soft whisper will be heard against the screaming of delusion.

Why not turn those soft words into belting sentences of hope? Why not? Isn't that what this world is built on? The ideals and hopes of those changed by kindness, wanting to give that kindness back and build on it the dreams that we all hope to achieve.

So then, I return to the memory of today, who knows how long till it’s forgotten. A normal day, an impressionable line of people at a food shop in a centre built for students, but priced for government’s greedy consumption. One item, one mission: get in and out and return to work. my one item didn't require the minutes of waiting the others would need, but in no way did that prioritize me above them, nor them me.

One girl, a stranger to me as I was to her, stood before me, the last obstacle to my purchase and escape. Her card was on its umpteenth time of being scanned and subsequently declined. She showed no signs of poverty, but one who truly knows that word, knows that it is not simply ‘seen’ on first impression or even at first glance. Her plight reminded me of a time I've buried in a black box my thoughts wouldn't even use a stick to poke.

But she was a stranger and it was not my problem. At least that is what I argued to myself as I walked slowly away from the counter, back towards my office. Why bother with someone unrelated to me? She showed no signs of being penniless and she was in fact on her phone trying to contact someone. Clearly she must have a backup plan. And yet why, step after step was I still arguing her unrelated connection to me?

I cannot tell you of the argument itself, as mental as it was. However, I can tell you that before I was even aware of it my feet had changed direction and I had retraced my steps. By the time I realized what I was doing I just let it go. Why not?

I paid for her order, with few words against stubborn disbelief and went on my way. Who cared if she remembered me, honestly I preferred she didn't. What did it matter if the act benefited her or annoyed her? Did it really matter how long this act would be remembered?

So many things that could have swayed me against that simple act, and yet I find myself still smiling hours later. It didn't matter whether I could or couldn't afford to do it. It wasn't a question of whether or not I could walk away. The real question was, why not?

My soul sings at that one small good deed and already I know I will do it again, when that voice returns and starts its unnecessary argument and that question echoes in my head, why not? Anything that feels this good should truly be repeated. But should one wait for that voice to wake you up and inspire you?

Kindness shouldn't need the push that seems to be the working cogs of an old moral-laden machine, left to gather dust in some unattended corner of our souls. Such acts should be the things that are done more easily than stringing two letters that never get anyone anywhere. Because, why not?

Today was an average day, one I doubt I will soon forget, because this was the day I witnessed a stranger’s act of kindness.