Channel Kindness Read online

  I had to ask him, “After sharing kindness all these years, do you ever feel that you’ve done enough? I mean, what makes you continue looking for new people who could use some kindness?”

  Christopher answered simply and humbly: “Doing this makes me feel better about myself as a person.” Whenever he catches himself reverting back to more self-centered habits, his priority of helping people serves to remind him of what’s important.

  We are so lucky to have Charleen and Christopher in our world to remind us of the healing power of kindness. It’s never too late to channel kindness. My life has also been transformed by acts of kindness—both receiving and sharing. If you want to learn more about how to be a catalyst for kindness, join our #BeKind21 campaign, and be sure to visit our friends at the Random Acts of Kindness Foundation.

  By the time we said good-bye and I offered my heartfelt thanks to Christopher for his gift and his wisdom, I realized that something in me had shifted. My grief over my loss was not entirely gone, of course, but I had begun to consider how I could do something kind for someone else who might be hurting. What a powerful feeling!

  * * *

  As I learned that day, being on the receiving end of a random act of kindness from a total stranger who’s paying it forward can change your whole outlook on the world and the people in it.

  * * *

  Being one of the people Christopher helped, I witnessed for myself the value of kindness and how it can make us feel hope enough to trust again—knowing there are everyday individuals all around us who really do care. This is a feeling that, I believe, has the power to truly change the world.

  Performing an act of kindness can redeem and heal you just as much as it can transform the person you choose to help.

  Christopher’s gift showed me the power that each one of us has to change a stranger’s day and the world as a whole by channeling kindness and paying it forward, one kind act at a time.

  2

  THE COURAGE TO BE KIND TO YOURSELF

  ALEXIS LEHRMAN

  Life at fourteen years old is … let’s just say … confusing!

  Our hormones are raging. That’s tough enough to handle. What’s worse is that this is the time when we become super-preoccupied with worries about what others think of us. As I learned the summer before ninth grade, when I went to sleepaway camp, this is often the age when some of us start “peacocking.” Basically, that term refers to showing off or acting and dressing a certain way to look more attractive—all in the hopes of gaining favor with the cool kids.

  Others? Well, we just try to survive. Trying to figure out who we are and where we fit in.

  At camp that summer I met Andrew Kohn, a fellow rising freshman silently struggling with his identity. At six foot seven inches, Andrew was hard to miss. Though he didn’t seem to have any interest in peacocking, fading into the background was clearly not an option.

  Andrew quickly became known as the BFG (Big Friendly Giant). And friendly could not be a more appropriate description. Unfailingly kind and considerate, he was every camp kid’s go-to goofball. Everyone at camp knew Andrew. Yet, as he later confided in me, most of the time he felt alone in his secret struggle to know who he was himself.

  Although we had different interests and weren’t alike in a lot of respects, the one thing we definitely had in common was a sense of humor. He could make me laugh like nobody else. And vice versa.

  During the following school year, we kept in constant contact and grew even closer. Before long, he became my true friend and closest confidant. At the same time, even though Andrew had always been liberal in his compliments to me, he managed to avoid really talking about himself. After a series of failed efforts to get him to open up, I started to wonder, Maybe I’m not being a good friend? Then, in a brief flirtation with vanity, a new question arose: Could Andrew possibly have a little crush on me? After all, he did always seem to be holding something back.

  Over the next summer at camp and the start of our sophomore year in high school, my questions were forgotten. At least, they were until one weekend early in the school year when, for the first time ever, Andrew turned the conversation to an apparently forbidden topic: himself.

  Moments before, we’d been hanging out and having lunch at our favorite burger joint … chatting about me, of course. Then, as he finished the last of the fries, Andrew suddenly looked at me and calmly announced, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  * * *

  There’s something I need to tell you.

  * * *

  I waited.

  He paused for a beat, composing himself before continuing, “I’m gay.”

  Before I could even think how best to respond, I blurted out, “When did you know?”

  The story Andrew next related was not at all what I expected, nor was the wisdom he had attained as the result of an arduous journey of self-discovery—one I doubt any of us realized he was on.

  Unlike his male friends, Andrew’s repeated attempts at liking girls kept failing. He admitted, “I kept trying because I didn’t want to be different.”

  In fact, one of his toughest obstacles early on had been overcoming the shame connected to what it would mean to be different. That’s what had kept him from talking about his struggles—even with me. He was afraid of the truth, it seemed, until he could no longer ignore it.

  The turning point had come during our previous summer at camp, when he and a small group of fellow campers embarked on a ten-day journey through the woods of North Carolina. In this Outward Bound–type program, they set out together with nothing but what they could carry on their backs. The most harrowing part of the trek is a twenty-four-hour solo stretch, where Andrew was on his own. Though Andrew knew the experience would be intense, he had no idea it would also be a defining moment in his life.

  “The second I was on my own, it began pouring rain. Unfamiliar sounds surrounded me.”

  Was he freaked out?

  In one word, Andrew answered: “Terrified.”

  He had spent so much time staying focused on friends and their issues that he’d managed to avoid looking at himself, other than occasionally wishing that his life was less complicated. Now that he was finally alone, that was about to change.

  “When I couldn’t distract myself with anyone else, I was forced to face what I didn’t love about me. Not just what it was but also why I felt so sad about it.” Alone on the trail, Andrew had no choice but to take a hard look at the experiences that might explain why he associated something bad with being gay. “I had to relive my life leading up to that moment.”

  There had been an incident in a floor hockey game in sixth grade that began when a player accused Andrew of fouling him. “Later on, in the locker room, the kid yelled at me, calling me weird and gay like it was an insult. I burst into tears after.”

  School then became just a place to conform, mainly because he was scared of being singled out again. “I thought I was different, and different was no good. I didn’t want to be gay. I didn’t want to have to worry about this issue, so I denied it. I tried to go after girls, but no matter how cute they were, I just wasn’t attracted to them. And I just became more and more sad. I felt deprived of the things other kids my age had. I wanted to love myself and for someone to love me.”

  As he began to consider what he denied himself for fear of rejection, Andrew reached an emotional clearing in the woods. It resounded in his awareness: There were things he couldn’t change.

  “I am gay, I cannot change that, and I can’t force people to accept me. I can only be me. And not accepting myself won’t change anything or help anyone … including me.”

  These weren’t totally new thoughts for Andrew. Yet, as he told me, those twenty-four hours of solitude allowed him, for the first time, to dig down deep enough to believe and accept that being gay was—and is—part of his true identity. Instead of dismissing his truth, he needed the courage to be a BFG toward himself. This revelation led to his resolve to no
t judge himself, to love himself enough to know, no matter what, that who he truly is can never be wrong.

  This act of self-kindness allowed him to stand up, face the forest, and finally say the words “I am gay” out loud and embrace them. With those words came a taste of a life free from judgment and full of kindness offered to himself.

  Alexis, thank you for sharing Andrew’s story; and he’s so right and brave—who we truly are can never be wrong. The path to finding out who that is can be bumpy—it was for me—and a friend can be so helpful in navigating that journey. If you’re struggling with coming out or hoping to learn how to support someone who has come out, check out our friends at the It Gets Better Project or The Trevor Project.

  The hours on his solo trek flew by from that point on. Gone was the silent dread tugging at his core. In fact, he told me, “I couldn’t stop smiling.” And if there is one thing I can tell you about an Andrew Kohn smile, it’s that it is highly contagious.

  Once he returned to civilization, friends, and school, he reclaimed his position as the center of fun, like the sun rising after a chilly night, casting warm rays of friendliness on those around him. Only now, he didn’t hold back. Accepting who he was made him happy, and that happiness was reflected in every life he touched.

  Getting there took courage. As his friend, being able to observe this shift in Andrew was the best gift he could have ever given me. Because of Andrew, I’ve learned sometimes the person who needs your kindness the most, is yourself.

  The more I watch Andrew interact with others, secure in the knowledge of who he is, the more I think about what peacocks really do and why we should all do it a little more: They strut their true feathers.

  3

  THE GIFT OF BEING SEEN AND HEARD

  THERESA STIER

  Coffee. That’s my cup of kindness of choice.

  There are times when nothing can get me out of bed and out the door faster than anticipating the warmth and comfort of my preferred hot beverage. It’s one of the many little things helping me survive college— especially 8:00 a.m. classes!

  As I pull up a barstool at the Starbucks counter and wait for my order, it occurs to me that other simple forms of kindness can be offered even by someone who hasn’t had their coffee yet … like holding the door open. Believe it or not, that smallest of gestures can start someone’s day off better instead of worse.

  In fact, earlier this particular morning, a groggy-looking stranger had paused to hold the door open for me. We had a quick exchange of “Thank you so much” and “You’re welcome…” and that was all it took to put a pre-coffee glow on my face. Then, as I ordered my usual, “Skim latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla, please,” my day was brightened enough for me to confess to the barista, “Or as I like to call it, the ‘Kate Beckett.’” (If you get the reference to the TV series Castle, where the love of java plays a recurring role, you get an extra gold star.)

  So once I grab my latte, because I’m earlier than usual, instead of rushing off to class I decide to sit there at the counter and savor my coffee. The decision proves to be a lucky one, because I wouldn’t have wanted to miss the exchange about to unfold.

  When I first notice the woman walking past me join the line to place her order, I can see that she is really anxious. Feeling like that’s none of my business, though, I turn my attention away from her and back to my notes from my Russian class. But I can’t avoid hearing the anxious tap-tapping of her heels against the tile floor. And when I overhear someone in line speaking to her, I can’t help listening in.

  This fellow is just making small talk—something about how the weather is nicer than it normally is in February—and before long, as they chat, the tapping of her shoes stops. One of the things she has mentioned to him is that she is on her way to a job interview and is extremely nervous. She admits, “I’ve been battling my anxiety since I woke up this morning, but I can’t let all that self-doubt stop me.”

  When it’s her turn to order, the man who has been talking to her for the last five minutes insists on paying for her tea. Before she can refuse his thoughtfulness, he adds, “Good luck with the interview!”

  * * *

  As I watch her place her order, then take the tea and make her way to the exit, I’m amazed to see that she is no longer the same anxious woman who’d walked past me a mere fifteen minutes earlier. Instead, I see someone confident and eager to embrace the day ahead.

  That man who bought her tea was probably just getting himself a coffee before work, but he somehow showed up at just the right time to be there for this woman—at a moment when she didn’t even know she needed his honest-to-goodness kindness. The free drink was nice, but what was truly kind was how he distracted her from her nervous thoughts, letting her know “You’re going to do great!”

  * * *

  What if we all took his example? What if we ask someone we see pacing whether they are okay? What if, when we see an elderly person drop something, we pick it up for her? What if we help someone carry their grocery bags to their car because their three-year-old is throwing a temper tantrum? If, instead of just being onlookers, we all offer simple, small gestures in everyday, anxiety-provoking situations, we can make a difference.

  So if you ever see someone who seems to be a little nervous, be the guy at Starbucks and start a conversation. Anxiety is real, and it’s not just all in your head. But also, don’t be offended if the person you’d like to help turns you down. Remember that coping with anxiety—or any variety of its sometimes-debilitating symptoms—can be tricky. According to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America (ADAA), anxiety is the most common mental illness in the US, affecting 40 million adults (ages eighteen and older), or 18 percent of the population. The ADAA also states that out of those 40 million people, only a third will seek treatment.

  Sometimes we feel powerless to help others. However, as I’m sitting, packing up my books, and sipping the last of my coffee, I’m struck by how powerful it can be to simply listen to someone else’s concerns and, most of all, to let them know they’ve been heard and seen.

  This is the conclusion I take with me out in the mild winter morning—that you never know how much you might be able to help someone else just by taking the time to really see them and, perhaps, by offering a few well-timed, kind words.

  Me too, Theresa, me too. Coffee is kindness in my life. I love the story you shared that accompanied your early morning coffee, and I love the lesson you’re sharing with us. We can and should try to take notice of the needs and feelings of the people around us, whether it’s a smile at the anxious woman in the coffee line or holding a door open for the frazzled parent pushing the stroller. These small actions can mean a lot, and your story shows that they do. We encourage you to pay the kindness forward and perform three acts of kindness in your community. If you need help getting started, check out Youth Service America for ideas.

  4

  Score A FRIEND

  HANNA ATKINSON

  The first time I ever heard the phrase “inclusive friendships” was on an otherwise uneventful day in high school. It was uttered by a fellow student, Sarah Greichen, an amazing person who I soon learned embodies that phrase more than anyone I’ve ever met.

  Let me set the scene.

  In the large cafeteria, I was sitting alone, eating my lunch.

  As a young girl with Down syndrome, that happened to me often. No stranger to loneliness, most of the time I managed to keep a smile on my face—not wanting anyone to think I felt sorry for myself. Maybe I did so in the hope that someone would feel comfortable enough to plunk down beside me one day. Sarah turned out to be that someone, and as we began to converse, we quickly discovered that we were both on the high school swim and dive team. She was also becoming a member of the Youth Activation Committee (YAC) for Special Olympics of Colorado, a committee I’d been on for a while. It’s a group that plans activities for Special Olympics athletes and for young partners who are not intellectually disabled,
like Sarah. She was joining with her twin brother, Jacob, who has an autism spectrum disorder.

  “Oh, a twin,” I said, recalling the magic I’d always associated with being a twin. Without being too nosy, I asked her what growing up as part of a duo had been like for her.

  When they were young it was wonderful, Sarah said, telling me they’d been born only two minutes apart and were always close. But as the two of them started school and began to socialize, she noticed differences between her and Jacob that broke her heart. “Everything was harder for him than it was for me, whether it was getting ready for the day, communicating with people, or doing schoolwork,” Sarah said. Watching him struggle with things that were out of his control inspired her to want to help. “From a very young age, I became his advocate and his best friend.” For the most part, Jacob was a genuinely happy kid, and Sarah always managed to cheer him up if he was having a tough day.

  “Always?”

  Well, she admitted, as long as they were in the same classes. When a decision had been made to place Jacob in a separate special education classroom, he began to regress. Once that happened, she said, “People began to see Jacob as his diagnosis, which is not who he is! And by the middle of that year, he came home crying and just lost it.” Their mom tried to comfort him, and all he could say was, “I have no friends. Why don’t I have any friends?”

  Without meaning to interrupt, I had to say, “That’s so unfair!” Maybe Sarah could see that I’d experienced my own low points.

  She went on. “High school was even worse for Jacob. Halfway through ninth grade, he stopped talking completely.”