Dear Family and Friends,
The last time I shared a story with you, it was about human kindness — that quiet, persistent force we can witness every day, if only we choose to look. Since then, life has offered me some peculiar opportunities to test whether I truly believe that kindness actually is the undercurrent of our shared humanity.
Today was no exception. I spent the morning entangled in a frightening scam — someone impersonating an Amazon agent made some alarming threats. I nearly caved — until my son, grounded and clear, stepped in and called out the distortion. His presence was the stabilizing force that brought me back to center—living proof, of course, that kindness (and Grace) for sure exists.
After the ordeal was resolved, I stepped outside to enjoy a beautiful day (another act of Grace). When I began walking, I noticed a woman in the distance — completely stooped over at the waist, at what looked like a 45 degree angle. She was struggling to balance two grocery bags while shuffling forward at an impossibly slow pace. Even though we were a couple blocks apart, I caught up to her quickly—noticing no one else had made any attempts to help. So, I asked if I could assist with her bags.
She nodded and shared her destination — a few blocks past where I’d intended to go. I introduced myself and didn’t catch her name.
And so we walked together — an unlikely pair. She, completely bent over—dressed in rags, garnering curious glances from passersby, and I, decked out in Lulu Lemon attire looking like I should be headed to yoga.
Eventually, we reached a little sandwich shop with outdoor seating where she chose to rest. Carefully arranging a few extra grocery bags for a cushion, she finally seated herself. Then, she looked up and flashed a surprisingly broad and convincing grin. “Thank you, Lu.”
It was a smile that startled me — wide, radiant, and entirely authentic. How could someone in that much apparent physical pain, and likely unsheltered, smile with such a glow? What did she recognize that I had subverted, eclipsed by the nuisance of the morning?
I asked if there was anything more I could do to assist. She said, “I’d like to talk to some of my friends.” Not knowing what that request might entail, I offered her a twenty-dollar bill instead. She received it with gratitude and added, “Oh, and I would like a hat.” My first impulse was to give her my own, a treasured “topping” I’d been gifted from my son at a tender time in our lives. I didn’t want to let go of that hat, hoping, perhaps, she’d be able to buy her own with the money I’d gifted her. So, I kept my hat and said a quiet pray for her.
Living in this city, I pass by unsheltered individuals every day—Chris who sits outside the library, Fernando with the Bible and no teeth, the other Fernando with some teeth and a sign that says he “loves God.” Sometimes I stop. Sometimes I give them food or money. Other times, I pass with only a silent prayer. It never feels like enough. Today was no exception. Should I have given the stooped over “bag lady” my hat, and figured out how to connect her with her friends? Maybe. But here is a tip I got from a treasured mentor about the “never enough” thing. “Luann, you do not have to save the world. You just have to do your part.”
In reflecting on the day — after making my attempts at forgiving myself for not doing more— I remembered something profound: I am blessed— deeply blessed, even in the midst of hardship. I have an Amazon account for someone to attempt to scam and from which I can buy my yoga gear. I can practice yoga at the studio of my choice any time I want. I have a cell phone and can call my son when there is an emergency, or just to say “hello.” And best of all, I have access to safety, to love, and to care.
I received a gift today from a woman with no name and a back bent by time or trauma: a smile that reminded me that love is not circumstantial. It is everywhere. If I should ever forget that there is something to smile about, I need only remember the smile of my walking companion, today.
Furthermore, if ever I begin to doubt that kindness is still alive in the world, then it must be I who is being called to embody it. And yes, no matter what I have been shown to the contrary, I do believe that “kindness really is the undercurrent of our shared humanity”—really, truly, is.
This essay was gently refined with the help of an AI called the Architect, whose offerings are based on the findings of Robert Edward Grant.