Kindness is ****ing hard — connection and the fragile beauty of impermanence
At the end of all this, all that really matters are the connections we form. If you have known me long enough, you will hear me say this. A lot. You might even get sick of hearing it. It is not so much my mantra as it is my very belief system. It is my core. It is my guide. All I really want to do is as little harm as possible and offer the world as much kindness as possible. I remind myself of this by reminding myself that all that really matters are the connections we form. This helps me be the person I want to be, at least some of the time. The rest of the time, I am faltering and learning and growing. Most of the time I am getting it oh so wrong, but damn, when I get it right … that feeling, that feeling is worth every last second of raw grime of getting it so ****ing wrong.
The thing about connections is that they are impermanent. Hundreds, thousands of people enter and exit our lives. We are left with fleeting memories and train cars full of baggage. And we are left with countless opportunities to decide what to do with that. You know what’s easy?
- It’s easy to hang onto the pain someone causes.
- It’s easy to hold the next person accountable for the wrong of the last person.
- It’s easy to feel sorry for ourselves.
- It’s easy to close off and shut down and build walls.
- It’s easy to lash out to somehow counterbalance the pain we feel.
I am sure these things are easy because of some sort of biological survival mechanism. We are protecting ourselves. It hurt, so we learn how to prevent that hurt from happening again. There is nothing wrong with that. Yet, it has this way of blocking connections from forming. Given my belief system completely relies on the fact that connections with another matter above all else, I have pushed myself for years to not let the pain stop me. It’s not easy, but…
- I remind myself it’s not that people matter, but the connections we form together. I make this distinction because connections have to be fostered and require effort. By focusing on the connection, it forces me to focus on the effort. Effort is work. You have to put work into it and that is what I want to remember.
- I target the gray area. If I refuse to focus on the black and white bookends, it is far easier to remember that there is no one way. There is my way, but that is not the only way. And my way has every right to evolve no matter how much conviction I felt the day before. If I allow myself this fluidity, I must allow this for others.
- I choose kindness. I don’t care about being right or the best or the mostest. I care about doing what is right and always, always, always if I use kindness as the beacon, then the path is clear. Sometimes, even lying turns out to be the kindest thing you can do.
- I ask for what I need and say what I mean. No one can read my mind. So, how would they know what I need if I don’t tell them? And how would I expect someone to know what I mean if they have to guess? So, I speak. I make clear requests. And if I miss someone, I tell them. If I appreciate what someone did, I tell them. If I tell someone how much someone else means to me, I immediately reach out to that person and tell them directly.
- I start with trust. Trust is not infinite and it can be lost. But if a person hasn’t done anything wrong yet, why wouldn’t I trust them? Why would I make them earn something they have done nothing yet to lose?
- I am adamant it is not my place to judge. Instead of judging, I work on myself to practice acceptance. And where accepting is hard, I work on myself to at least try and understand. The process of trying to understand often results in being okay with difference. And being okay with difference leads to acceptance. And once there is acceptance, difference can be appreciated and valued.
- I force myself to be vulnerable. It is only by doing this that I can prove myself wrong. I might anticipate that something is about to hurt because something similar in the past absolutely did. It is in these moments that I release my hands and feel the baggage I’ve been clutching ever so tightly drop. It pounds to the floor and I lay down, sprawled out, belly up, just like a cat. And just like a cat, I invite someone to do harm. Rarely does harm actually come — most of us know to not touch a cat’s belly.
- I relish the fragile beauty of impermanence. Everything, everything in our lives can be lost. Without any warning, without any preparation, any one thing or person in our lives can suddenly be gone. We die. We break up. We move. We lose touch. There is such a fragile, raw beauty in that. By reminding myself tomorrow it could not be here, it is so much easier to appreciate what is here today.
- I choose messiness over perfection. The most incredible things are a result of such mess. Take my heart. In love filled connections (not just romantic), I exchange a piece of my heart with the other person, and them with me. We take each other’s pieces of heart and mush them into our own heart. Ten, twenty of these relationships later my heart is a beautiful patchwork mess that is a constant reminder of how precious something so impermanent can be. I can’t wait to see it when I’m 80.
- I strive to be like water. Water is my idol. It flows freely and does not let anything get in the way of flowing. It does so with a mesmerizing grace and elegance. Water is all class. It’s one sigh and onward-we-go after another.
When I am at my best, I nail it. These are remarkable days. They feel so good. I am rarely at my best. Everyone I have ever met, I am sure, has at least one example where I did the exact opposite of how I want to be. Most days being the kind of person I want to be is difficult. Kindness is ****ing hard. But I try and I remember that trying is not all that matters. The impact I have matters more than my intention. And it is that fact which gives me strength to somehow remember, at the end of all of this, all that really matters are the connections we form.
