Writing about kindness was prompted by the fact that World Kindness day is this month, but why keep kindness contained to a day? Or a month? Kindness should be something that we keep at the forefront at all times, because let’s be honest, where would any of us be in the world if kindness didn’t exist?
For me, the reason that kindness is so important is because of what it can do and how it can make people feel, what it can create and how it can facilitate change. Whether it is being kind to a stranger, kind to a friend or kind to one’s self, even through the smallest acts it can offer hope, connection, joy, warmth, support, show someone they mean something, demonstrate one matters and is worthy..the list is endless.
To help think about kindness in action and the impact it has, I asked my colleagues at PBH to share their experiences of receiving kindness and what it did for them. I think these memories demonstrate how important and powerful kindness is in a way that I would never be able to capture. I hope they bring you as much joy to read as they did to me…
Our neighbour was 99 and very sadly died earlier this year. She had been a widow since she was 60. She didn't have a huge amount of money but she was consistently kind to us as neighbours all of the time we lived here, particularly the kids. On any occasion (birthday, Christmas, Halloween, Easter) she would come round with presents for the kids. She was no longer driving and so would have to get someone to get them for her or give her a lift to the shops. Even when she was really unwell and could not move around at all easily and coming to a door was an absolute mission, she never missed an occasion. It had a huge impact on me, it was a huge kindness and obviously a sacrifice for her. She just loved kids. A generosity which was unasked and in some ways unearned, was very touching and left me always grateful to have such a lovely neighbour.
Kindness is such a simple act of love and thought. It could change someone’s day. An experience I had recently - a quick message from someone letting me know I am in their thoughts today as they know things are difficult at this point in my life. It means so much.
Johan, Clare and Rob approached me to work as sessional at PBH, I was reluctant and still striving to get over burnout. I had no idea what a genuinely beautiful place PBH is and it meant so much to be seen.
Last week, a memory of my dad hit me out of nowhere and I found myself tearing up in the middle of the street. I did my classic “I’m not crying” thing, quickly wiping my face, hoping no one would notice, which of course made it more noticable. An elderly man walked past, then doubled back. At first he offered me his last tissue, which I thought was very kind. But then he sat down next to me, unhurried, and we ended up talking about my dad for a while. That small act of kindness from a stranger reminded me that sometimes kindness appears in the simplest, most unexpected gestures.
Well today the bus driver let me on the bus outside of the bus stop and we exchanged a lovely moment.
Sunday, 8.30am - I'm approaching the local chemist and already saw a lady, outside, waiting at the door. By the time I parked the car and approached the chemist by foot, there were 3 people waiting at the door. Soon I realised that the men that joined the lady were not waiting for the chemist to open. As they walked, they saw the lady waiting and decided to assist her in explaining to her that the chemist would open at 9am and that there was an emergency number she could call, if she needed. (the lady had spent most of the night in hospital). I found that, a very kind gesture from these 2 men and made me think that the world may not be that place that sometimes we are conditioned to think that it is, afterall.
When my phone was stolen from my hand a woman walking by checked in with me to see if I was ok and if I needed support.
Oslo, January 1996. I was 20 years old, less than a year clean and sober. Studying at the University of Oslo and living in student accommodation at Ullevål. It was about an hour’s walk down to the city centre. I can still picture myself leaving the house early, perhaps around 6am. Bitterly cold, with flurries of snow stinging my eyes so that it was easier to walk with my head tilted sideways. I wore a heavy, battered leather jacket lined with sheepskin that came down to my knees. I missed my amazing girlfriend back in England and felt adrift at the AA meetings in Oslo. They were nothing like the ones in London. I was the youngest by far, disconnected, restless. With little money, I often resorted to the staple of boiled pasta with butter. That morning I walked down to Aker Brygge, the docks at the port of Oslo. The area is saturated with childhood memories. I could see the buildings where our family offices once were. I remembered coming to the docks for fresh shrimp, stuffing baguettes with them and smothering the lot in mayonnaise. My grandfather often stood with me there, telling stories of the war, pointing out where the resistance had operated, bringing characters and places to life with such vividness. But sitting on the dock that day, watching snow settle on the ice, I was consumed by despair. Caught up in the self-involvement of early recovery. Angry about my supposed lack of privilege compared to my father. Insecure about whether my relationship could survive the distance. Full of shame for my past and the long road ahead to repair broken relationships. By the time I walked towards the station at National theatret, my tears had frozen on my eyelashes. On the northbound platform it was still early and almost empty. The only other person there was a man wrapped in a sleeping bag, a shopping trolley beside him. Sleeping rough in Oslo is rare , with temperatures dropping to –5°C, it is brutally hard. He came over, trolley in hand. It contained nothing but newspapers, the day’s editions, clearly picked up after being discarded. He asked if I wanted one. A little confused, I said yes, and asked what he wanted for it. He replied that he didn’t want anything, handed me the paper, and walked away. That simple act jolted me like a lightning bolt. Here was a man in a desperate situation himself, yet he was giving something freely, with no angle, no expectation. Just kindness. In that instant, my outlook shifted completely. I’ve never forgotten it. That moment remains a guiding principle and a profound lesson: an act of kindness no matter how small — can brighten a day, change an outlook, alter a life, or even save one.
I was a little girl and I must have stayed out later than expected as my parents were looking for me and asking my neighbours if they'd seen me. I don't remember this incident but dimly remember being in trouble and my mother then telling me to go and see Angie, our next door neighbour, because she had been worried about me. I remember feeling surprised that anyone was worried and an expectation I was in trouble with Angie.
I went to see Angie and she looked at me directly in my eyes and told me she'd been worried about me, my parents had been worried about me and not to worry my parents again like that. I think she gave me a hug and I distinctly remember she tucked my hair behind my ear and I have never forgotten that moment. I felt surprised and shocked. I felt loved at that moment and I didn't know how to respond. This simple touch felt foreign. Just a simple gesture of love and touch that I remember to this day. I was probably 7.
When I was first travelling with my son as a newborn, I found it refreshing at how helpful people were around the airport and travelling. Supporting me with all the things, on the flight holding him for me to go to the bathroom and a passenger playing with him to entertain him. Honestly this has been my experience a lot of the time when travelling with the children. It built my confidence and reassured me that travelling with the children is ok.
I want to thank my colleagues for showing me a great kindness by sharing these memories with me and for helping me to spread the joy that kindness brings to our wider Portobello family… and if you’re looking to bring more kindness into the world but not sure where to start, this last offering might provide some inspiration….
Blind Kindness
A number of years ago, while I was living in Nashville, my friends Rondal Richardson and Miles Adcox met me for a coffee. Both are fantastic people – big thinkers with equally big hearts. They told me how they had just been to Starbucks, and while there, came up with a rather lovely idea: they purchased a gift card, handed it to the cashier, and asked them to give it to a customer of their choosing.
Now, many of us are familiar with the concept of buying a coffee for a stranger or giving a gift card to someone who might be struggling. But what made this particular gesture so clever was the way it created a ripple effect. The person buying the gift card felt good about giving; the cashier felt good about being entrusted with the act of choosing someone to receive it; and, of course, the recipient felt good about being the beneficiary of an unexpected act of kindness.
We talked about it at length, excited by the simplicity and potential of the idea. We decided to do it regularly and in different ways. We called it Blind Kindness – the “blind” referring to the fact that there was no direct contact between the giver and the final recipient.
We’d pay for someone’s fuel by asking the cashier to select a customer at random. We’d give cash to a waitress and ask her to choose a diner whose meal we could cover. Often, we’d quietly stay nearby to watch it unfold – which was a joy in itself.
Eventually, I set up a website to collect stories from others we encouraged to do the same. It actually gained quite a bit of traction for a while – until I became too busy to keep it going. But I still practise it from time to time. I can afford it; it doesn’t have to be a grand gesture. What matters is the act itself – and the way it amplifies the spirit of generosity.
