“I Want to Be Water”: How Small Acts of Kindness Can Bridge Divides in Fiery Times
I have been wracking my brain on how to be part of something helpful during these times. It's a tinder box out there! I want to be water. I want to “love thy neighbor”—even the one with the lawn sign that makes my blood boil; the one whose TV is always set to the “other” news station; the one who won’t vote; the one who will, but for _______??!! I want to be water, but I fail at magnanimous feelings and inclusive behavior every day. The divisions have become so sharp, even between people who previously agreed on almost everything. Landmines everywhere. How do we walk out of this mess without blowing each other up? Certainly not via the take-down culture of social media. What’s the point of smearing our opinions all over the electronic landscape if it only fortifies the ramparts separating us?
Sure, I am working for the candidates I want to see elected; I am writing about the issues I care about; I am donating to causes I believe in. But I am beginning to think that the most effective thing I can do as one human being in these hot times is to respond to everyday situations with small acts of cooling kindness. Like, speaking up when the woman in the long line at the grocery store yells at the checkout guy, blaming him for making her late while demanding that he bags her large purchase.
“It’s not really his fault,” I gingerly tell the outraged woman. She mumbles an excuse and leaves quickly. I’m next in line. I thank the clerk for serving us. He says there just aren’t enough people who want to work at the store, so the lines are long. “We get it,” I say. Several people waiting on the line nod their heads and offer their own thanks to the clerk. He looks stunned by the recognition that he’s an actual person and not a robot ringing up the groceries. This changes the atmosphere in our little group of shoppers; there’s a palpable sense of connection among strangers, as if we just woke up from a trance.
We’re all in a trance these days. We forget our shared humanness. I certainly do. Just this morning I found my blood pressure rising while on hold with the doctor’s office, listening to the annoying music and the absurdly untruthful recording that says—over and over—“Your call is important to us.” Oh yeah? Then why have I been waiting for 20 minutes just to renew a prescription? When the overworked receptionist finally picks up, I want to scream. But I don’t. I take a deep breath and observe my reactivity. That’s what I’ve been practicing on the meditation cushion for years—to pause before reacting; to question my instincts and assumptions; to be the peace and the kindness that I long to see in the world. But what’s the point of meditation if I can’t use it in real life? So, before taking my frustration out on the receptionist, I breathe. I pause. I put my hand on my heart, and I ask her how’s she doing. She immediately softens her defensive stance. She’s helpful. She apologizes for the wait and thanks me for my patience.
Later in the day I mail a package at our dilapidated local post office. The nasty postal worker everyone loves to complain about doesn’t even look up as he chides me for not using an official postal service box, saying something under his breath about “entitled out-of-towners.” I’m about to say something snide back, like, I’ve lived here longer you, buddy. But instead, I say, “Hey, Jim, it’s me! Remember? Our kids used to play soccer together.”
He looks up. Our eyes meet. “Oh yeah, I remember you,” he says. “I have grandchildren now!”
“Me too. Can you believe it?”
We both laugh. He’s shaken out of the trance, out of his reactive storyline about city hipsters who look down on him and bitch about the broken US Postal Service as if he has any control over it. “Hey, next time use the right mailer,” he says, sounding almost friendly.
I can’t always pull this good behavior off. Some days are better than others. But my intention, my practice, my prayer is to be water, especially to my own hot reactivity. This doesn’t mean there aren’t some very bad players in our personal and collective lives who need to be brought to justice, or stripped of power, or walked away from. It doesn’t mean I will dampen my passions or abandon my core values. It means only that I don’t want to let my values and passions create a cascade of more problems, more conflict, more division.
I’m not expecting perfection—of myself or others—just the intention to be a light spring rain every now and then. Just the prayer that one act of love might ripple outward and join other rivulets that run together into an ocean of empathy and sanity. As this fiery election cycle in the US heats up, we are going to need as much cooling down as possible. Let’s help each other be water.
ELIZABETH LESSER is the author of several bestselling books, including Cassandra Speaks: When Women are the Storytellers, the Human Story Changes and Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow. She is the cofounder of Omega Institute and is one of Oprah Winfrey’s Super Soul 100, a collection of a hundred leaders who are using their voices and talent to elevate humanity.
