Channel Kindness Read online

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  We dedicate this book to any and all humans who inevitably suffer in life. For those who both do and do not yet understand the power of channeling kindness into all the things we do. And to kindness itself. You’re the best. Thank you.

  Love, your kindness punks

  BEGINNING

  As I scanned the pages of this incredible compilation of kindness, bravery, community, resilience, and triumph, I was overwhelmed with pride, gratitude, and appreciation for the people sharing their stories with me, with you, and with the world. Contained in these pages is the proof of a kinder, braver world that I envisioned more than eight years ago when I cofounded Born This Way Foundation with my mother, the proof that I had so desperately prayed for as a young girl, and the proof that I’ve tried to work tirelessly for over my lifetime.

  Though I was surrounded by love, I often lived in the world by myself—whether writing and performing songs on the piano, creating elaborate stories and performances in the most unlikely of situations, turning strangers into friends at restaurants where I waitressed, or, unfortunately, trying to escape the harsh reality of bullies and the unkindness that often surrounded me. The world that I created in my dreams was one in which people led with kindness, were emboldened by bravery, and accumulated love and community. As I read the stories contained within these pages—stories of standing up for love, standing up for others, and the quiet courage it takes to stand up for yourself—I believed the world I created in my dreams could one day be possible for everyone else, too.

  Our book, told from the vantage point of young people from all across the country, highlights random acts of kindness given to and by strangers during periods of grief, loneliness, and hardship. It emphasizes the connection and tender care that come with building genuine friendships. And it is a gentle reminder of the kindness and love we all have the potential to share. I can see that through the hearts and passion of the young people in our Born This Way Foundation family, our kinder, braver world is becoming a reality.

  Born This Way Foundation was a movement before it was formalized as an organization. The same can be said of Channel Kindness, which I refer to as the kindest place on the internet and now—the kindest place in print. Both were built out of the experiences that I had growing up and the profound impact that kindness (and its absence) has had on my life. As I began to tour the world, I would share my experiences onstage, and thousands of young people from all over the world would share theirs with me. We would cry together, laugh together, heal together, and promise one another that we’d continue to not only survive, but that we would find a way to thrive.

  It was in that spirit—and with their spirit—that we started our work at Born This Way Foundation for a generation of young people who shouldn’t have to live in a brave, kind world that only exists in their heads. Our goals at the foundation (and I would venture, in our lives— for the team of people who have made this work their mission) are threefold: to make kindness cool; to validate the emotions of young people around the world; and to eliminate the stigma surrounding mental health. It will take all of us to accomplish these lofty goals, and we believe that young people are uniquely positioned to create this kinder, braver world because they are filled with hope, compassion, and a commitment to community, and they are defined by diversity, inclusivity, and a distinct perseverance that make them powerful beyond even their own wildest imaginations. In each interaction I have with young people, I see this. And you will see this here, too, on every page, in every story.

  THE VALUE OF NEGATIVE SPACE

  LADY GAGA

  When I was young, I prayed a lot. (Whether that implicitly means that someone should or should not read this book, however, is decidedly irrelevant.) It wasn’t because I was religious. It was because I was a deep and passionate thinker—who thought a lot—and was spiritual and creative even when I was very little. So if we substitute prayer with asking the universe questions about my life, this, to me, would be a more accurate way for you to understand the beginning of my story as Lady Gaga and why it is important to read and share this book with others. I always considered myself a theorist and would posture ideas constantly to myself and those around me. Who am I? What am I? Who are we as humankind? Then I began channeling this into inventions: music, characters in school plays, poetry, and writing. Needless to say, at some point, lots of people have found me to be very peculiar. Weird was a word I heard a lot. Why do you want to be a singer, actress, dancer, performer, artist, writer? was also condescendingly asked of me. And to be honest, it ultimately felt as though many relentless and quite mean children and adults around me were asking me why I existed. Because I never felt I existed without art.

  Middle school acting headshot

  Thus began my journey with bullying. I was even bullied in class for essays similar to the one you’re reading right now. Once I gave a dissertation my senior year of high school. I practiced it all night; it was about shock art and representations of Christianity in art throughout history, the latter being the point of my homework and the former being the conceptual twist I threw in to make all eighty pages of my thesis interesting to me. I distinctly recall a moment—one of many stories that made me who I am. I was delivering my thesis as a speech to my class, with poster boards I’d beautifully made to show the evolution of God in art from classical to contemporary, and my teacher was called out of the room for an emergency and asked me to continue my presentation. In the middle of my speech, my high school bully—in front of my entire class—loudly and rudely interrupted me and said, “Why are you still talking?” Now, because this is a book and not a movie or episodic show on Netflix, I can’t do an impression of her to truly do her justice, but let’s just say her tone was the equivalent of You’re annoying and dumb and Could you please spare me and this entire class of your idiotic attempt to care about this assignment.

  I was upset that I actually did something I hadn’t done so openly before. I used to cry at home or in the school bathroom or the nurse’s office, but this time, I burst into tears in front of my entire class and sobbed uncontrollably with my hands over my face while everyone stared at me. When my teacher reentered the room, I very quickly composed myself and continued to share my project. The only thing worse for me in this moment than having a breakdown in public in front of my bully would have been my teacher catching on, asking me who bullied me, and then me having to lie or tell the truth—both of which would have gotten me in trouble, either in school or socially with the other students.

  So that was that. And even as I type this, it reminds me of how flippantly my tribulations as a young person both came and went without anything to remedy them. They were over as quickly as that last sentence. Once I was thrown in a trash can on a street corner by a group of boys that were friends with my bully. (They were instructed to do so.) I distinctly recall the laughter and joy they took in humiliating me while shou
ting, “That’s where you belong!” When I was younger, I was also pinched in the hallway by older girls who would grip my arm tightly and whisper to me, “You’re a slut,” as I walked to class. They were jealous that the older boys at our brother school paid a lot of attention to me. Funnily enough, this impacted me so much that I even feel the need to clarify while writing this for you—I was most certainly not a slut.

  I’m leaving out a lot because there’s so much to say, I would have to write an entire book myself. Having depression, anorexia, bulimia, anxiety, and masochistic tendencies that included scratching or cutting my arms with knives when I was in emotional distress. This went on from age eleven till rather recently in my early thirties, and I still struggle with some of these things.

  * * *

  I imagine my brain is like a pinball machine with uncomfortable marbles, and each one of my obstacles is a marble. Every once in a while, one or a few shoot out and I can either gain points for dealing with them using skills I’ve learned, suffer while they fall past the flippers into an abyss of panic, or just hope they roll back into the trigger slot and keep quiet so I don’t have to play pinball wizard with my mental issues. What I really wish to make a point of is: amidst all this, eventually I became a famous artist, but all of these things came with me.

  * * *

  Becoming a star does not fix anything. In fact, the demands of it made it all the more complicated. Imagine having an eating disorder and just after a segment on prime time news about the current state of the US’s attack on terrorism, there is a report that you have gained weight, with a photo of you onstage where you clearly have gained weight and a news anchor actually discussing and gawking at how unattractive you now are.

  Fantastic. Cut to me in a hotel room somewhere on a world tour having a panic attack over a fear of my body image that I’ve had for so long I don’t know who I am without it.

  I went on to achieve things beyond my wildest imagination, and I was still haunted and plagued by massive insecurities and mental health problems that emerged—PTSD being one of them. I’ve tried to understand my pain, solve it like a detective. I’ve driven myself crazy trying to even understand that once I became an adult, I was still not equipped to handle all I had been through, and that it made me even more prone to being controlled and bullied in my business. At least it didn’t control my art. I’m brave in some places, less brave in others. My trauma history is extensive; I’ve spoken about it at length, and in a semi-healed as well as semi-detached way, I can once again admit that I was repeatedly raped when I was nineteen by someone in the music industry and as I got sicker and sicker mentally on tour after my career took off, no one helped me until I essentially went rogue. I became so self-aware of how sick I was becoming, I locked myself in my apartment in New York and told everyone to leave me alone while I painted. Basically, this was code for Lady Gaga quits.

  I grew up around alcoholism and developed a neuropathic pain condition—which is essentially, when I get stressed, I feel physical pain throughout my entire body. It’s so excruciating I can barely think. Yet here I am writing this to you. I think finally in my life, I have at least figured out the through line of all the things I’ve been through.

  In every instance, there was

  an absence of kindness.

  In most instances, it was only when someone shared their painful stories with me that I no longer felt invisible and became less afraid.

  So then I developed a theory of The Value of Negative Space. The currency of understanding the gravity of what can happen when kindness is absent. There was a moment of silence after I cried in front of my class when my bully made fun of me, and I’ve learned now that those moments of quiet, when we don’t always know what to do, should be filled with kindness. What I find to be interesting is, there are actually two negative spaces that possess value: one that is empty, quiet, and ignores the absence of kindness; and another that is filled with negativity. Filling this space is my life now. This is this book. This is what my bully taught me. Sure, being bullied versus being raped may sound like it has a clear winner if it were a kindness competition, but the truth is trauma is not a contest, and every story in this book is equally valuable.

  It’s important to pause and think about what you’re doing, just in case you might hurt someone. And by someone, that includes yourself.

  Don’t just respond with kindness: fill the empty with it.

  Together, we can bring positivity into negative space.

  1

  TRUST

  Kindness

  CHARLEEN COLÓN

  On a gloomy afternoon in December 2013, two days before Christmas, my family’s doorbell rang. Not much in the mood for an unannounced visit from a friend—much less a stranger—I felt little enthusiasm as I went to see who it was.

  Most years I look forward to the holiday season with childlike wonder. No matter what challenges might be going on, I’m usually so happy just smelling the fresh pine tree in the middle of our house and seeing it hung with ornaments, twinkling with lights as wrapped presents grow in numbers daily. Christmas for me has always been a time of family, food, and friends and of reliving happy memories of holidays past and making new ones.

  Sadly, though, on the day when our doorbell rang unexpectedly, I felt unable to partake in the spirit of the season. At the time, I had recently experienced a deep and devastating loss: the death of my mother. Without her in my life, the world seemed suddenly to have become darker and colder. The idea that I was supposed to feel good again just because of the holiday was almost a cruel joke.

  “Are you Charleen?” asked the kind-looking man standing on my doorstep. He was a man I had never met before, in his early forties and athletic in appearance, with bright eyes and a look of both confidence and compassion.

  “Yes,” I answered, warmed by his thoughtful smile—at least, warmed enough that I chose to trust him.

  With that, he handed me a holiday card and nodded, encouraging me to open it in front of him.

  My first thought was Who hand-delivers a card in the middle of the holiday rush? But rather than say anything, I went ahead and invited him inside and opened the card as he waited. It read:

  * * *

  Charleen, I don’t know you, but from a mutual friend I heard about your mom’s recent passing. I am positive your mom would want you to have everything on your Christmas list. God bless!

  * * *

  Inside the envelope was a total of $500 in gift cards.

  Like magic, it seemed, a stranger had made the effort to do something so kind, good, caring and, frankly, surprising that I wasn’t sure whether to cry or laugh for joy. Somehow he must have known that it was always my mom who managed to find time and resources to shop for everything on my list. Had someone told him that without her, the season was going to be an especially lean one for our family? His generosity meant much more than being able to buy presents that year. His gift let me know that even though Mom was no longer alive, I could still connect to her love through thoughtful acts of kindness. They were there to remind me that the world didn’t have to be such a dark and cold place after all.

  The man wouldn’t have stayed longer, but I explained that I had a few questions— starting with his name and where he was from. At forty-three years old, Christopher Chiarenza was a successful entrepreneur from Long Island.

  As I soon learned, I was not the first—or the last—recipient of Christopher’s generosity. Usually he prefers to remain anonymous, but he had made an exception in my case and then agreed that I could share his story, if only to encourage others to find a way, as he had, to pay it forward.

  When Christopher was young, he too lost a parent—his father. The death of his first role model and number-one inspiration took a profound toll on him. He told me that, for some years, he felt deprived of one of the most positive influences in his life. His saving grace, he explained, was learning to look to his faith—especially in darker times. From the teachings of his reli
gion and the examples of other role models in his spiritual community, Christopher embraced the core belief that you reap what you sow. He says it’s not only a proven truth in his life but also a principle that he believes can apply to others as the law of the land.

  Before he came to that realization, Christopher admitted, there was a time in his early twenties when he didn’t fully appreciate the value of kindness.

  “How so?” I asked.

  He described the type of person he is today as different from the type of person he was twenty years ago. Back then, he said, “I was very self-absorbed.” When he reached his thirties and started to seriously examine his priorities, Christopher chose to show his thanks to all who had helped him by carving out a new path toward helping others.

  The moment he opened his eyes to the ways he could make a difference in his own community, he discovered how great the need really was.

  The moment he opened his eyes to the ways he could make a difference in his own community, he discovered how great the need really was. Feeling that he had been blessed financially, he opted to perform acts of kindness in the form of monetary assistance. Over the years, Christopher has continued his practice of generosity, especially during the holidays.

  As it was for me, the holiday season happens to be a time when many are often most in need, a time when they ought to be enjoying the happiness of the season but may be feeling low and alone. In order to select the beneficiaries of his good deeds, Christopher invites people from his community to suggest names and stories of those who could most use a kind gift of hope and help.