Kindness Has a Long Memory

When was the last time you did or received a random act of kindness?

I'm not talking about holding the door for someone or complimenting an outfit.

I'm talking about going out of your way to do something that costs you time, energy, money, or all the above. Paying for the coffee for the car behind you in line. Stopping on the side of the road to help someone change a flat tire. Finding a wallet on the ground and tracking down the owner. Donating blood to help a stranger.

This week's blog was inspired by a podcast episode on this topic, including research that somewhat surprised me: receivers are often far more grateful and joyful about an act of kindness than the giver ever expects.

Many years ago, I was traveling for work when my car was broken into while parked at a hotel. It wasn't a bad part of town, but I hadn't noticed how poorly lit the spot was. I had left my cell phone and my planner in the car. The phone was an early "bag" model that only worked in the car. The thieves likely mistook the planner for a laptop and tossed it out the window shortly after.

I was in my hotel room, ready for bed, when the phone on the nightstand rang. The front desk. Someone was in the lobby with my planner. I quickly dressed and went downstairs to meet two young women who explained what they had seen: a moving car and an object flying out the window. They stopped, retrieved it, and because it contained my entire life: calendar, plane tickets, credit card numbers, travel plans, they figured out where I was staying and drove to the hotel to return it.

I thanked them. But I never saw them again.

Looking back, I wish I had done more. Offered a tip, asked for an address so I could send a proper thank you note. Instead, I said thank you and found a pay phone to start canceling cards and sorting out the logistics. I was in shock, and the practical problems took over.

I don't think about those two women often. But after listening to that podcast, I found myself thinking about how rarely I go out of my way to make a difference in someone else's life.

How do you feel when you receive a handwritten thank you note? For me, it's warmth. Genuine surprise. Sometimes it's a note I didn't even think warranted a response. A text would have been perfectly fine, and yet someone took the time to write it down, seal it, and send it.

I hold onto those notes. I pin them to my bulletin board. A quiet reminder that people care.

I have a neighbor who sends birthday cards and thank you notes in the mail. Every time, I'm caught off guard. I've saved all those personal cards in a growing box that may become a scrapbook someday.

Those cards also nudge me to do more.

I give blood. I make charitable gifts. I share pantry staples with neighbors who are mid-recipe and short an ingredient. Honestly, those don't feel random. They're habits more than gestures. And they don't ask much of me.

That's the thing about a true random act of kindness. It's usually spontaneous. Unplanned. You don't intend to stop on the side of the road. Stopping means being late, getting your clothes dirty, maybe even putting yourself at risk.

But without the help of strangers, the world doesn't run as smoothly. When we assume someone else will step in, it could be hours before help arrives. Or the person who needed a boost walks away believing no one cared.

Just today, as I wrote this blog, the world handed me two more reminders.

I attended a Red Cross Appreciation Luncheon for blood service leaders. As someone who has helped host blood drives for decades, I was grateful to be included. In January,

I celebrated five years of neighborhood drives, I'm also on the Nashville Board and the

Tiffany Circle and assist in their outreach efforts on blood drives.

The luncheon speaker was thirteen years old.

She stood up and told a room full of adults about her battle with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. She is close to finishing her treatments. She came to say thank you to everyone in that room who collects blood, platelets, and plasma for patients like her.

It took courage to share. I wanted to bottle her story and play it for everyone who has ever declined one of my invitations to donate.

When I arrived home, a thank you note was waiting in my mailbox. It was from a recent podcast guest; someone who had shared a deeply personal story on my platform.

She is the one who should be thanked. She gave her time, her vulnerability, her story. And yet she wrote to thank me.

That's what kindness does. It circles back.

You rarely know the full impact of what you give. But someone, somewhere, is pinning your note to their bulletin board. Thinking about you years later. Telling the story of the two strangers who stopped to pick up a planner.

Go out of your way a little more this week. It matters more than you think.

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