Tag: Kindness

Remembering Who You Are

The gap between this garden post and my last spans 15 months of a global era charged with all the circumstances that make my kumbaya soul weep. It’s not inflation, the economy, the pandemic, the immigration crisis, or politics. No. In all things, it’s the pervasive anger, contempt, divisiveness, unwillingness to listen or compromise, and the refusal to forgive.

And so it was a humbling experience recently to find myself in a circumstance that stirred in me the kind of blistering anger and stubborn unforgiveness that I find bewildering in others.

Early on in the said situation, I admitted my shortcoming, explained myself, and apologized. In my mind, it was a relatively minor infraction; poorly chosen words said in the heat of a moment. I fully expected to get past it quickly, especially during the holidays. The other party didn’t see it that way, didn’t accept my apology, and was particularly harsh about it on Christmas Eve. Everyone else in the room pretended not to notice.

Forgiveness is something I value highly and always try to give freely. To have it withheld from me was hurtful. As often happens, hurt turns to anger. I retreated, allowed my resentment to grow, and vowed never to forgive the unforgiver. I stewed about it. I seethed. I allowed it to invade most of my thoughts for the next few days.

Then, on the Monday after Christmas, I received a coincidental reminder from a friend about not letting the heartless world rob you of your joy. It was a quote by writer Kurt Vonnegut that my friend just happened to post on social media. It said in part, “Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness.”

Reading that, I realized I had relinquished my power over my inner happiness to someone else. Regardless of how that someone else chose to handle the situation, I had the ability to regain my own peace of mind. The ice that had so quickly formed around my heart began to melt.

“Feeling angry and unforgiving may be a comfortable state of being for someone else, but it’s definitely not for me. This is not who I am,” I said to myself and later to my husband who agreed 100 percent.

I began to look around me for more reminders of who I am. That same day I asked my husband to stop the car so I could take a picture of snowy, cloud-shrouded mountains that looked like they belonged in a fantasy film. The next day I marveled over a colorful sunset between winter storms. The next I found unexpected inspiration in some of the messages (two borrowed from poet Ralph Waldo Emerson) on the front of the Christmas cards taped to our coat closet.

Believe in the magic.

Every hour and season yields its tribute of delight.

Every moment of the year has its own beauty.

Peace and Love.

More wonder, more twinkle, more merry, more joy.

And at the top of the display, a Thanksgiving card that said only, “#blessed.”

The most important reminder, though, were my roses. No. There is nothing blooming in the high desert in the dead of winter. Yet, when I went out on the front porch on New Year’s Day to refill the water bowl we keep for stray cats, I couldn’t help but notice pops of red on the other side of the railing.

There, still clinging to the bramble bush, were several spent roses. The backdrop of snow through tangled canes framed them in a way that reminded me of the Bette Midler song, The Rose. Most people who know the lyrics remember the last lines about the progression of winter, snow, sun, spring, and the rose. But there’s another line elsewhere in the song that means more, especially today.

“I say love, it is a flower, and you, its only seed.”

As this new year begins, I find that I’m oddly grateful for the humbling experience with anger and forgiveness (or lack thereof). I needed a reminder about the power of choosing how we’re going to feel, how we react to forces beyond our control, and how every one of us has the power to plant seeds of love.

We – you and me – are the only soldiers capable of combatting the animosity that is spreading ever wider in our world, our country, our communities, and sometimes in our own social circles. Take my hand and let us skip happily into 2022 with the expectation that we can make a difference by freely scattering seeds of all the goodness that lies within each of us. In the simple words of the holiday cards displayed on our coat closet …

Magic, delight, beauty, peace, love, wonder, twinkle, merry, joy.

With these seeds, we are indeed #blessed.

Be the Old Man

When I shared the first roses from this year’s garden on my social media page, a dear friend posted a comment that I’ve been turning over in my head ever since. Call her a gardener. The seed she planted has germinated and is about to bloom right here on this page.

Referencing the beauty of my photographs, she said simply, “The reward for years of hard work in your garden.”

Well, yes. Hard work usually does result in a reward. In my garden, it’s roses. In my writing, it’s a book or blog that touches a reader. In my efforts to be kind, it’s a grateful smile on someone’s face.

Simple, right?

Well, it was … until my friend’s words began to mingle with a recent declaration made by someone else I know.

At the end of a rather long conversation, we got around to comparing our respective purposes in life. I explained my intent to make the world a better place by being a positive force. He thought that was nice and all. A pebble tossed in the middle of a lake eventually produces ripples that reach the opposite shore. But it wasn’t enough for my conversation mate. He has visions of making a bigger splash. Ideally, the pebble he tosses will be more like a boulder.

While cleaning out flower beds this week – an exercise that inevitably sparks rumination – I thought about the different ways each of us impacts the world. Some of us are content if our ripples encircle our family and friends. Some seek opportunities to improve their community. Some would love to see their name in the history books if only they could come back someday and take a look.

Wait.

What if we could come back someday?

Before you dismiss the possibility, here’s my disclaimer. You don’t have to believe in reincarnation or an afterlife. Or that aliens might whisk you away and later bring you home to a planet that has aged while you haven’t. Or that time travel is possible.

The theory of how it might happen doesn’t matter. All you have to do is imagine you’re here, let’s say 80 years in the future. What do you want to see? How do you hope to live? What do you envision is different?

Maybe your heart’s desire is to finally see the natural wonders of this planet. Maybe you want to live in a world where cancer doesn’t claim the people you love. Maybe you envision great leadership that brings people and nations together. Or maybe you just want everyone to have enough to eat.

Close your eyes for a minute and think about what would make life great in the 22nd Century. It doesn’t have to be something from my examples. There are a million other things you could choose. The only caveat is that your vision must be something that benefits some or all of us and harms none.

Got it? Now imagine you have the power to make it so. How? By planting the metaphorical seeds that will grow your dream.

You want to see the natural wonders of the world? Work toward preserving them. You want cancer to be curable or, better yet, nonexistent? Support cancer research. What about great leadership? Be an example of great leadership now or lend a hand to organizations that nurture future leaders. Food? The ways you can impact the availability of food are virtually endless.

Don’t spend a single second fretting that you’re just one person. Only a lucky few have ever changed the world single-handedly. Remember, in this exercise, we have 80 years for our visions to unfold. Eighty years for my ripples of kindness to merge with other ripples and become the gold standard. Eighty years for great leaders to mentor greater leaders. Eighty years for your heart’s desire to materialize.

Of course, it would be magical if all the good we collectively want could appear before our eyes right here, right now. But shouldn’t we be working toward the world we desire anyway? Shouldn’t we want future generations to enjoy the fruits of our labor?

You’ve heard the Greek proverb. “A society grows great when old men plant trees in whose shade they know they shall never sit.” The unspoken message is that someday someone else will enjoy the shade.

Imagine you’re the someone else. Then be the old man. It’s that simple.

 

Love Is Contagious, Too

In the garden, caution is sometimes the only strategy to keep your rose bushes healthy.

The best example involves pruning. You don’t prune one rose bush and then move on to the next without sanitizing your shears. If you do, a virus that has covertly infected one bush is almost sure to spread through the entire garden. Certain viruses like witches broom (officially known as rose rosette) are so insidious that removing diseased bushes is considered the only recourse.

Knowing this, when health and government authorities told us all to repeatedly wash our hands, diligently sanitize surfaces, and stay home as much as possible to interrupt the spread of the corona virus, I wasn’t inclined to argue. Self-quarantine of individuals who’ve contracted the disease, but aren’t sick enough to be hospitalized, also made sense.

But what does this mean once you’re actually surrounded by the same four walls and (if you’re lucky to have housemates) the same faces day after day?

Despite what the calendar says, spring has not arrived in the high desert of Northern Nevada so, even on mild days, there isn’t a great deal of work to do in the garden. Saturday night dinner with the kids and grandkids is not an option. Television loses its luster when there is almost a constant stream of bad news and you’ve watched all the new episodes of programs you like.

So here’s what we’re doing in our household.

Every day we try to limit our daily intake of the bad news. Instead, my husband and I check in with family and friends via telephone calls, texts, email, and Facebook. Not only does that keep things in perspective, it helps us feel less isolated from the people we love. We can’t physically go through this crisis together, but we can go through it together emotionally.

Every day we spend time working on projects that normally we only wish we had time to do. For me, that means I’m suddenly making rapid progress on the historical novel I started two years ago. Rewrites I thought would take months are taking days or weeks instead. And what a joy it is that someone who regularly critiques my work is now my partner in isolation and can make suggestions in real time.

Most importantly, every day I try to think of something positive I can do for someone else. Admittedly, there’s not a lot. The last time we went to the grocery store I made a point of cheerfully greeting everyone I saw (from a socially safe distance, of course). In addition, I resisted the urge to buy more than we really needed so other shoppers could buy what they needed, too. A few days ago, I checked on our older-than-us neighbors and made sure they had our telephone number if they should need help. Yesterday, I left a “thank you” sign on the door for the UPS driver who continues to make essential deliveries while the world goes crazy around him.

Perhaps as we get deeper into the pandemic, it will become more challenging to tolerate isolation, be productive, and stay positive. But I’m personally going to try with all my heart and soul to persist. I invite you to join me in that mission. Collectively, let’s do everything we can to interrupt the spread of the corona virus and, at the same time, make sure patience, kindness, and love spread unchecked all over the world.

Be Kind, Show Love

Some of the prettiest roses I’ve seen in my neck of the woods aren’t in my backyard. The Carson-Tahoe Cancer Center in nearby Carson City has dozens of bushes.

Many circling the hillside complex are polyantha roses – compact puffs of landscaping fillers that faithfully produce small blooms all summer. Because all of them are red, I like to imagine that the designer thoughtfully chose a particular variety named after the character Happy in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

Other bushes placed in a special garden and in beds near the main entrance comprise a pleasant mix of low-growing floribunda and taller hybrid tea and grandiflora roses. There are no name plaques but, in my walks around the complex, I’ve pondered how the different colors represent a range of warm emotions – love, sympathy, friendship, appreciation, joy.

You may think this is a surprising place to find comfort and peace – in this landscape surrounding an institution where very sick people come to receive sometimes very unpleasant treatments – but I’m not surprised at all. Every square inch of the property was intentionally designed to nurture hurting souls.

The building itself was designed that way as well. Patients receiving infusions sit by a semi-circle of picture windows looking out over the city or woodlands. Strategically hung birdfeeders provide hours of entertainment – because that’s how long some treatments take. Huge stone fireplaces in comfortable waiting rooms generate the best kind of warmth on chilly days.

And, most important of all, kindness circulates in the hallways, offices, and waiting rooms like the soothing smell of your grandmother’s kitchen on a Sunday afternoon.

I have to admit, I wasn’t particularly enamored of the place the first time I had to visit after receiving a diagnosis of early stage breast cancer. In the two years since, I’ve come to appreciate my visits and have willingly spent extra hours inside the building and wandering the grounds while supporting others on their arduous paths through cancer.

The lesson I’ve learned there is that, no matter how fundamentally dreadful the purpose of a place might be, it can still be surrounded by and filled with the best humankind has to offer. The question I’ve come to contemplate is why can’t the best of humankind be replicated in every home, every community, and every place of business on earth?

For a shining period in my 50s, I worked for an organization that was led by the most empowering leader I’ve ever known. He set an example of cooperation, teamwork, mutual support, and simply being kind to one another that was unmatched in my 37-year career. His primary rules for the office were “no mean, no loud, no negative.” His parting words (when the Governor wisely asked him to come and run his office) were “be kind, show love.” The fact that his approach worked was evident in the volume and the quality of our outcomes. Hands down, I did my best work there. I ended up transferring and then taking early retirement when his successor took the polar opposite approach to management.

Circling back to the question that sometimes keeps me awake at night, why does an inspiring environment have to be as rare as the mythical Brigadoon? What stops us from regularly bringing our best selves to our marriages, our parenting, our interactions with neighbors, and our careers? Why is it ever OK to be mean, loud, and negative? I honestly don’t know. But here’s what I do know.

If a fundamentally dreadful place like a cancer center can create an inviting atmosphere – one that exudes peace and compassion – then it can’t be that difficult anywhere else. I have the power. You have the power. We all have the power to fill our homes, communities, and businesses with the very best humankind has to offer. It’s not up to anyone else, and it’s as simple as my former leader’s parting words.

“Be kind, show love.”