Finding Generosity and Compassion in the Crevices of Life

Source: Marcus Aurelius / Pexels

The research on random acts of kindness is more compelling than I realized. At first, I dismissed the idea as a catchy bumper sticker, but there is more substance than I had originally thought. It turns out that it makes a difference—and a measurable difference in the quality of our lives, both for the giver of the random acts and the receiver. The research is impressive: It can help reduce depression and anxiety, it stimulates serotonin, it produces oxytocin, which is helpful if you are feeling anxious or shy in a social situation, and it increases a sense of self-worth. In these times of ill will, it is worth revisiting the idea.

My favorite study is by psychologist Gillian Sandstrom, whose research showed that just a smile can make a difference. When she was a student, lonely and living in a new city, as she walked from one class to another, she passed a woman selling hot dogs from a cart. She never bought a hot dog, but she would smile and wave. The woman would respond with a smile and a wave. She noticed that when she saw the woman, she felt better.

The brief and wordless interaction made more of a difference than she realized. Sandstorm felt better when she saw the woman. This launched her research, which has shown that our happiness and indeed our physical health improve with social interaction.

So many of my patients and students wonder what they can do to make a difference in these fraught times, so I tell the story of the hot dog lady. Many of us want to do something monumental, and it comes as a surprise that it can be as simple as a smile and a warm hello.

We know that kindness can help with isolation and loneliness, which are at epidemic proportions, but it seems that it can also help with loss and grief. I don’t know about you, but my life these past few years has been full of loss, illness, aging, and death. I heard this story a few weeks ago, recounted by the meditation teacher Tara Brach. It is based on a true story.

In the fall of 1923, writer Franz Kafka was taking a walk in a park. He was ill and didn’t have much longer to live. He was stopped by the sobbing of a little girl. She had lost her favorite doll. He tried to help her find it, but couldn’t.

Since Kafka was a master storyteller, he told the little girl that the doll was away on a trip and that she would be writing about her adventure. He arranged to meet her again, explaining that he was a postman and would deliver the letters.

He composed a letter from the doll and read it to her: “Please don’t worry. I’m fine. I have gone on a trip to see the world. I will tell you of my adventures.”

This is the beginning of many letters detailing the imagined adventures. However, Kafka was becoming increasingly ill and realized he wouldn’t be able to keep the meetings going. He brought her a new doll with a note that said, “I’m back. My travels have changed me.”

Many years later, as the story goes, the now-grown girl found a note hidden in a crevice in the doll’s sleeve. It said, “You will lose everyone that you love, but the love will return in a new form.”

As I respond to the ongoing losses in my life, I return to the idea of kindness and generosity. Can you make space for that which is difficult and sad in your life, and also allow space for kindness and generosity?