The Kindness I Nearly Let Slip Away

You ever have one of those days where the world feels like it’s moving too fast, and you’re just trying to keep up? A couple of weeks ago, I was rushing through the grocery store, my mind a blur of deadlines and to-do lists. I barely noticed the elderly woman struggling to reach a jar of pickles on the top shelf. Her hands trembled slightly, and her cart was half-empty, like she was picking out just the essentials. I almost kept walking. Almost. But something—maybe a flicker of guilt or a whisper of my mom’s voice saying, “Be kind, always”—made me pause. I grabbed the jar, handed it to her, and her face lit up with a smile that felt like it could power a small city. That moment stuck with me, and it got me thinking: how often do we miss these tiny chances to make someone’s day?

There’s this quiet magic in kindness, you know? It’s not always grand gestures or viral videos of strangers paying for someone’s groceries. Sometimes, it’s just a fleeting second where you choose to see someone. I think about that woman a lot now—her soft “thank you” and the way her eyes crinkled with gratitude. It wasn’t a big deal, but it felt like one. And I wonder… how many times have I been too caught up in my own head to notice someone else’s struggle? It’s a humbling thought, one that makes me want to slow down, just a little.

I read somewhere that kindness is like a muscle—you’ve got to use it, or it gets weak. And I believe it. I think back to my old neighbor, Mr. Thompson, who used to leave extra tomatoes from his garden on our porch. He didn’t make a fuss about it; he just did it. One summer, I was maybe ten, I helped him weed his garden for an afternoon. My hands were caked with dirt, and I probably complained the whole time, but he just chuckled and handed me a glass of lemonade. That was kindness, plain and simple. No agenda, no expectation—just a guy sharing what he had. I wonder what he’d think of the world now, where we’re all so busy scrolling, we sometimes forget to look up.

But here’s the thing: kindness doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s messy, human, sometimes even awkward. Like the time I tried to help a guy with a flat tire on the side of the road. I’m no mechanic, and my attempt at using a tire iron was… let’s just say, comical. We both laughed, and he ended up calling a tow truck, but he thanked me for stopping. It wasn’t about fixing the tire; it was about showing up. And isn’t that what kindness is, really? Showing up, even when you’re not sure what to do?

I’ve been trying to be more intentional about it lately. Not in a forced, checklist kind of way, but just… noticing. Holding the door for someone carrying too many bags. Smiling at the barista who looks like they’re having a rough morning. Little things. They add up. There’s this study I came across—some psychology journal, I think—that said small acts of kindness can boost your mood more than big, planned ones. I believe it. That pickle jar moment? It made my day as much as it made hers.

So, I guess I’m writing this as a reminder—to myself, to you, to anyone who’s reading. The world’s a noisy place, and it’s easy to get lost in the chaos. But kindness? It’s like a quiet rebellion against all that noise. It doesn’t take much—a moment, a glance, a helping hand. And maybe, just maybe, it’s the thing that keeps us human. What’s the last kind thing you did, or someone did for you? Bet it felt pretty good, didn’t it?