I fill up my tank with petrol then walk into the station to pay. The guy behind the counter is up for a conversation. He tells me he’s the owner and he’s worried he’ll run out of petrol. He received six-thousand litres of diesel on a day he’d usually have 15-thousand delivered. He says if there’s no more petrol then no-one will buy “milk and cookies” from him. He and his wife are seriously considering moving back to India. He says he doesn’t have much, but if he sells everything and moves they’ll be “filthy” living in India. He means filthy rich.
He says customers are abusing him about the petrol shortage. He says it’s not his fault and he can’t do anything about it. He puts up his hands and says, “What can I do? I just have to keep going. We all just have to keep going.” “Yes,” I say. “And we all have to be kind to one another.” He agrees with me.
We say goodbye. I wish him all the best.
I start thinking about kindness, its beauty and power. I think about how, no matter what’s going on in the world around us, we can choose where we put our focus. We are that powerful.
I reflect on the bank of kindness stories I’ve been keeping. It feels like the perfect time to share just a few with you.
The fellow customer
I’m at a closing down sale for a shop that is loved by women. It sells gorgeous silk, cashmere and wool pashminas, wraps and jumpers, quilt covers, blankets and throws, fabrics, cushions in vivid, joyful patterns, tablecloths, napkins… you get the idea.
It’s a much-loved shop for all the imported beauty it houses from India and the man at the helm who’s the definition of grace.
A dear friend tells me about the sale and I’m looking for a floor rug for my new studio so off I go. The shop is in what would have once been a period home, and there are delights to discover in every high-ceilinged and polished floorboarded-room. I head into the room at the back with the wool kilim floor rugs piled high. There are shelves of quilt covers too, cashmere jumpers, and stunning red shawls (I tell myself I really don’t need one) on a table.
The pile of rugs looks heavy to handle. I start lifting just the corner of the top few so I can get a better look. Glennis sees me and asks if I’d like some help.
Instead of what used to be my standard response: “No thank you,” even when I really did need help, I looked up at her and said, “That would be wonderful! Thank you!”
Glennis yanks the corner with me and helps me pull out the rug that speaks to me most and we lay it all the way out on the floor. Other women are bustling around selecting quilt covers from the shelves. Glennis tells me she really likes the rug I’ve chosen. We start chatting. She tells me she loves this shop so much, and she’s created a pile behind the counter of all the things she’s buying. She shows me a navy quilt cover with fuchsia pink birds and orange flowers. It’s for her son, she says, and she wonders if he’ll like it. I tell her that more beauty is good for everyone. She agrees.
I thank her for her help and go back to the pile of rugs. There’s another one I want to look at and it’s about halfway down. It will take me ages to manage this on my own and I wonder if it’s even possible without taking up a lot of the floor. There are too many other people in the room and I don’t want to disrupt their shopping.
Glennis sees me pondering all this and comes back over and asks which one I want to look at. Again, she helps me pull it from the pile. We lay it out together and we talk more.
We agree that my first choice is best. I put back the other rug. Then we stand next to the table with those beautiful red shawls, and we talk for another ten minutes. Glennis tells me about her ex partner who was having an affair with another woman. He left Glennis for the other woman and then he died not long after. She tells me she hasn’t had much luck with love and she hasn’t been “very good” at relationships. I tell her I hadn’t either until I met the love of my life. I said I don’t think any of us really know how to do relationships well. It’s not like we’re taught.
She tells me where she lives. She asks me what type of work I do. I talk about my upcoming retreat in Bali, and the weddings and funerals too.
At the end of our conversation she asks if she can give me a hug. I say yes. We hug and smile and wish one another well. I walk to the counter to pay for my rug and the man who owns the shop comments on how beautiful my choices are. He tells me he learns so much from his customers. He is such a gracious soul. We meet eyes and he puts his hands together and says, “Namaste.”
I walk out the door with my bargains and my heart full and a tear in my eye. I’m moved by the moments shared with strangers.
I understand why Esther Perel says we can grow and expand and open by talking to strangers.
It’s so easy to focus on what we think is “wrong” with our world. Glennis and the shop owner remind me what’s right.
The gardener
When we first moved to Melbourne we rented a tiny apartment in a building full of character and charm. Back in the day, long before it was converted into apartments, it was the home of the police commissioner, complete with servants’ quarters.
I felt home for the first time since I’d lived in Bali. I could look out the window from our apartment on to palm trees and the most beautiful garden created and maintained by the woman who lived in the large apartment at the front of the complex. There was a fountain in the courtyard, large pots abundant with gardenias, and a hedge along the driveway with stunning pink camellias.
At the end of our street was Fitzroy Gardens. I’d walk there every morning, and there’s a particular section with abundant palms and ferns that makes me feel like I’m in Bali again. I’d keep track of the duck families when ducklings had been born, pick up the fallen camellias and take them home to put in water dishes, and visit the huge magnolia tree in the hope of being able to reach a giant bloom to inhale its glorious scent. I’d take photos of the seasonal displays along Hotham Walk, and the beauty cracked my heart open every time.
I walked each day early in the morning before the Conservatory opened, and sometimes I’d go back again later so I could go inside. The displays are changed quarterly, and a visit there is guaranteed to make me cry. It is so beautiful. It’s my favourite place in Melbourne. We don’t live as close anymore, but it’s only a few train stops away and I still go there to visit.
Not so long ago my partner and I went there together. The doors hadn’t opened to the Conservatory yet and we were standing outside. One of the gardeners who works there saw us and kindly let us in early. It was the begonia display - my favourite. I never knew begonias came in so many varieties. The stunning beauty of the flowers, and the smell of the humid air made me cry, as usual. I also found a fallen begonia and was delighted to hold and admire it.
The gardener asked us if we’d like a photo. We said we would and he positioned us to take full advantage of the background. Then he asked us to move to a couple of other spots so he could take more photos. He was so warm and kind. He made our day.
The actor
I watch the final play in the Summer of the Seventeenth Doll trilogy with my partner, and we walk out of the theatre speechless, with tears still in our eyes.
It has been a long time since I’ve felt so moved by theatre, and each play in this trilogy is beyond brilliant. Extraordinary. One week after seeing the final play I’m still moved to tears each time I think about it.
We decide to find a café so we can sit down and debrief. We find a table outside, my partner orders a coffee, and we dive in to the miracle of what we feel so privileged to have witnessed. We both have tears in our eyes as we speak.
A few minutes later, one of the actors arrives and sits at a table near us. She is alone. I notice her and point out to my partner that it’s Nancy/Pearl. I tell him that I want to tell her that she’s an incredible actor and how moved we were by the play. He wants her to know too. We decide that I’ll be the one to tell her because I’m more, well, forward than he is. He doesn’t want to intrude. I tell him it’s a gift to tell people you think they’re wonderful. I turn around in my chair, tentatively say “Excuse me” and tell her we were in her audience and thank her for her performance and say how moved we were.
She comes over to our table and pulls up a chair. My partner says he doesn’t want to intrude and she tells us she’s waiting for her cousin and he’s late so she has time to talk. All three of us have tears in our eyes we share our experience of the plays. We connect and it feels deeply meaningful and we’re struck by her openness, kindness and generosity with her sharing.
Her cousin arrives so she goes back to her table. We stay a little longer and then all wave goodbye to one another as we leave.
This is my offering to kindness and expresses what it feels like to me: colourful birds and fallen flowers. Curry leaves from a plastic bag with a “give away” sign hanging outside someone’s house on a suburban street. Butterfly wings, mermaids, Christmas baubles, animals, cowrie shells, hearts, angels, beautifully wrapped presents, streamers, hearts, a carousel, a party popper, a plant, a teddy bear, and candles. Of course. And stones – a circle or community of stones – because we’re all in this together.
The card I drew for us (it’s sitting in the plant) was “Unicorn” – When you believe in magic, special grace enters your life. Your pure heart is capable of experiencing and expressing rare beauty.
I work alone. My daily world is quite small. I notice that when I speak with a stranger it’s immensely meaningful. Small moments of connection matter. There are good people in this world.
Let’s be kind. Let’s be kind strangers. The world needs us.
I choose not to charge for what I write. If you’ve enjoyed reading it, I’d be grateful if you clicked on the heart 🤍. This will help make my writing more visible to other readers. Thank you so much. I appreciate you being here.
Please feel free to share. Not a subscriber? You can sign up now for free:
Thank you so much for sharing! ❤️