Rescue a wallflower. Most people know what it’s like to go to a party and end up standing by yourself. If you see someone alone, mosey on over to them and strike up a conversation. Nine times out of ten, they will have the most interesting things to say out of anybody at the party or dance.
Much of the time, kindness is good common sense. Just think about what people really need. In low-income families with no other options, an infant can spend the entire wearing the same diaper. Due to a lack of funds, some parents cannot afford to change their baby’s diaper more than once a day, and most laundromats do not allow cloth diapers to be washed in their machines. Help out a family in need to cover the basics by donating diapers through the Diaper Bank Network at diaperbanknetwork.org.
The things that make me the happiest have emotional and physical effects. These effects are felt even more when they are done for someone else. One of the most lasting is writing a personal letter. Born in the transitional time between letters and computers, many people in my generation have already shunned snail mail as a way to communicate. This makes letters rare, but a very inexpensive surprise.My grandmother was one of seven children, and they communicated with a round-robin letter. From mailbox to mailbox, they would add an update on their life and send it around to the next sibling. She taught me that letters are a valuable form of communication, something she’s emphasized as her memory slowly fades. I got into the habit of writing letters and during the times where I was most stressed, I would write a letter. Letters live somewhere between thoughts and stories. They are confidential and a piece of yourself that you can choose to scrap or share.
When I receive a letter, especially from someone whom I haven’t heard from in a while, I get a rush of endorphins, because I’m holding proof that the friend thought of me. It’s the same rush I get when someone is considerate or goes out of their way to help me. Most friends reciprocate with a call to say how happy they were to open a personal note rather than another bill.
I studied epistolary literature in college, often using my break from studying as a chance to write letters. Perhaps letters will go the way of Wells Fargo wagons, but I’ll single-handedly support the post office as long as my friends have addresses and my fingers can write. Letters are my personal therapy, my rush of endorphins, my connection with those I love, and my alone time-my regular serving of happiness.
You know how certain memories sometimes remain crystal clear as though they are trapped in the amber of your consciousness?. While I don’t know nearly enough about how the brain works, I suspect these shards of memory that stay with us are some of the most important events of our lives to be pondered upon for all that they contain. They might be teachable moments for us to draw upon. While the neuroscience aspects allude me, I do know this memory is a life lesson:
My besties and I like to have a cup of tea now and again, the fancy kind with tea cakes, cupcakes, and cookies that are almost too beautiful to eat. During my decade in the Lower Haight, my dear friends and I got together once a month, taking turns at each other’s houses. I was excited to be hosting one lovely spring day and planned everything to the tee-lemon bars with lime icing, mini cupcakes with icing that looked like lace, and my favorite black and white cookies, chocolate on one side, vanilla on the other. I even had brightly colored paper napkins with sassy wild women quotes on them.
I was working in Berkeley and living in San Francisco, which meant that just getting across the Bay Bridge was going to be an adventure. On this day, it was going to be a miracle. I was terrified my friends would be standing at the front door, stamping their nicely shod feet, waiting for me as I navigated the traffic. I surrendered to it, knowing my anxiety would not change a thing. Plus, I had my secret weapon-the nicest array of confections ever. How could they be mad at me when they were being served stunningly beautiful cookies on napkins that reminded them they are fabulous?
Finally, my lane of traffic oozed off the Fremont exit into downtown San Francisco. I was going to bust one of my special moves and drive down a one-way arterial to avoid the clogged streets. To do that, I had to drive past the Transbay Terminal, one of the most desolate and derelict spots in all the greater bay Area. I was chugging along and feeling good about my bag of goodies, when I was stopped again by a Muni bus that appeared to be lumbering along at maybe three miles per hour. But I still had my special treats and my confidence remained intact.
I looked to my left and a mother and her toddler were standing on the raised median about two feet away from my car. She looked to be not much older than a teenager herself, and had a big bruise on her cheek and a frightened look. Her little boy was hugging her knee, trying to stay warm in the arctic wind that blasts San Francisco as soon as the sun sets. I smiled at them and she smiled back, and I saw then that she was missing at least one tooth. In this moment, I just knew she had run away from an abusive home and was getting herself and her son to safety. I also knew in that moment that they needed money. I scrambled around in my messy purse but could only find a five-dollar bill, as I had spent all my cash on the sweets. I grabbed the pretty paper bag filled with boxes of delicacies and shoved it into her hands along with the wadded up bill. The look on her face was what will stay with me a lifetime. She was surprised, and the stress drained out of her face and I could see how pretty she was. The bus shot forward and I had to drive away but I managed to shout back at her, “These are the best cookies in the world, so everything is going to be okay!” I looked in the rearview mirror and saw her bend down. She opened a box and lovingly fed her little boy one of my treasured black and whites. They were laughing and her son was even dancing around. My heart lifted as I drove away. I was especially pleased that this young woman was going to be reminded about her fabulousness by sassy paper napkins.
My girlfriends and I microwaved popcorn that night but nobody minded. We also ended up having a much deeper and richer discussion about real things, no shop or shopping talk, no boyfriend problems. We talked about how lucky we were and ways we could give back to the world.
It is funny how I knew those cookies were going to save the night. I guess I just didn’t know whose.
