Recently, someone resurrected a perceived wrong I was to have committed two decades before. It was in a setting where I wasn’t given the opportunity to defend myself. I felt wronged … defeated, as the accusation was so targeted, so personal.
As the days wore on, I found myself closing my heart to doing good for others. That’s people for you, I would tell myself. You try to help everyone, and this is the thanks you get.
Then my laundry room was out of commission, and I had to take a couple of loads of clothes to the laundromat. I loaded my washers only to discover I was short eight quarters. The change machine was out of order, so I canvassed the aisles.
“Do you happen to have eight quarters in exchange for two dollar bills?” I asked each person. I was met with blank stares and empty nods. I expected as much, I muttered to myself as I retreated to my car to search for spare change. That’s people for you.
But when I returned, there were two stacks of four quarters on top of one of my machines. Again, I canvassed the aisles, this time to identify my benefactor. And again, I was met with blank stares. This time, though, they were accompanied by sly smiles. Every single person vehemently denied helping me.
The kindness was targeted, and oh so personal. And in that moment, I understood. Every day, I have a choice as to which type of person I want to be.
My once-closed heart cracked open wide. I chose kindness.
