Random Acts of Kindness: A one year challenge

I know a young woman whose husband is grieving.

In my experience, airports are places where a large number of the people are spinning in anxiety and trying to control it with whatever skills they have, which often amounts to being angry and “overly assertive.”  Of course, not everyone is anxious or airports would have melted under the emotional radioactive fallout many years ago, but there is certainly enough to be setting off the Geiger counters.

By its very nature, an airport is a particularly difficult place to be present.  The whole purpose of an airport is to be anywhere but here, to as quickly as possible be in some other moment than the one presented by the airport.  Add to this that much of our fellow travelers show up at the airport flustered, stressed , probably tired and, according to at least one member of the traveling team, running late (I told you we should have left 30 minutes earlier; Who takes the fucking beltway at this time of day??).  And now the coup de grace, at the airport we are laser focused on achieving what we feel into our very marrow to be a crucial, tightly defined objective (Must. Get. Out.) AND almost every aspect of this airport endeavor is completely out of our control.  You cannot control the security lines, flight delays, how far your gate is, connecting flights, who your new plane friends will be, ….. Hell, you don’t even get to drive the plane for part of the trip anymore (Ok, I made that one up).  You get to buy the ticket, which hopefully more or less matches your needs.  After that, you pretty much got nothing that is within your power to change.

Now I am sure that this says something weird about me, but for me, the most stressful part of this ritual?  Getting to the airport and finding parking.  After I find parking and walk into the terminal, I am pretty much good for whatever happens next.  Weird, right, but we all have our special pressure points.  At some point, I should probably explore why I am such a cool dude, after parking, but today is not that day.  Today: Airports and RAK

Given all this near desperate neediness and worry, air ports are a RAKing shopping mall.  You cannot swing your  “one personal item” with your iPhone, iPad and laptop in it, along with a stash of snacks in case you don’t want to pay  $12 for a can of Pringles on the plane, without hitting someone who would benefit from a random act of kindness.  Indeed, probably benefit greatly from the smallest of kindnesses. AND it is also a jungle filled with  fierce, angry, cornered beasts with sharp teeth and claws….also known as our fellow travelers.  “Not at their best” would be a delicate way to describe the fact that under these circumstances many people embrace their inner asshole.  Some of our fellow blobs of flesh are not in the mood to embrace kindness at this time.  This sucks for all who encounter them, even “nice” people.

And, once again, a legitimate question would be what is his point?  Can he please just get to his point?  Thank you for your patience, but we needed context .  This is the point, why do we offer Random Acts of Kindness?  Cui bono? Latin for “to whose benefit?”  (I wish I could say that I knew that because I am so fucking cultured, but I heard it in a talk a few weeks back and it really struck me).  Anyway, cui bono?    To whose benefit?  Are we doing this RAK shit because we expect that people will be grateful?  That everyone we meet will be so impressed by our kindness?  That people’s lives will be changed because of a brief interaction, albeit a unique and potential powerful one?  The bitter truth is that not everyone (fools that they are) will recognize the gift we are offering.  Some people will tell us to fuck off, or at best look at us with suspicion and mistrust, which is fair given the aversive world so many of us encounter every day.

Who thinks this suck and it hurts their feelings?  Me, me, pick me!!  Truth; it hurts my feelings and kind of wounds me when this happens.  I usually just slink away like a sad little puppy.  Of course later on I am like, “Hey, fuck you, Mr. Man, and your grumpy self.  I was being fucking kind.  I hope you get run over by a garbage truck!  Fucker….” (More sad self).  Cui bono?  Why am I doing this?

Hanging my head in shame here.  As much as I would love for this to be about me (and prizes), on some level I get that it can’t be about me .  If I am truly engaging in the RAK Challenge, I need to be open to however people respond including that not everyone is going to be in a place where what I have to offer matters or is accepted.  And when someone rejects my RAK, it still counts as a RAK (full credit!) and I have to keep doing this, because it is about being in the world in this way for a year, even when it would be a lot more fun to be home eating chips and watching bad TV.  Damn.  Maybe I will get extra credit for RAK in the face of adversity?

So, at the airport a couple days ago, returning from a few days of helping to care for a family member with Alzheimer’s Disease (A whole long story for another post down the road).  There was a young woman with a small child and a baby who were clearly Spawn of Satan, or maybe simply 2 small children up too early in the morning and in a strange place with a totally fried mother…either way.  It was not going well; crying infant, small child embracing the freedom that only the wide open plains that are the airport terminal halls can offer, mother struggling with carry on, coffee and smartphone.  Obviously an opportunity to offer a random act of kindness, right?  Yeah, not so much.  My offer to help her find her gate and arrive without dropping her baby on its pumpkin head was firmly rejected.  On the bright side, seeing a strange man talk to her mom did draw the carefree lass back closer to the protection of the herd.   So, I picked up my wounded self and went on my way.  Of course, turning the whole interaction over in my head in a Tasmanian Devil whirling tornado of thoughts that alternated between self-righteous anger and self-deprecating criticism.  Somehow in this maelstrom, I was able to step back and think about this women’s world and where she psychologically was, and how interacting with me fit into her day. Cui bono?   And, yes, ouch, that sucked, and it was not about me.

I did help an old lady get a massive suitcase off the baggage carousel later that day, so clearly a check mark in the win column for me.