The Lasting Impact of Small Kindnesses

"Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless."
― Mother Teresa

I just finished reading a great book, It's Easier Than You Think by Sylvia Boorstein, which is filled with many nuggets of personal wisdom.  Its subtitle is The Buddhist Way to Happiness.

Boorstein shares that when she was 19 and newly married, she unexpectedly had to handle funeral arrangements for a great-aunt.  She admits to having been afraid of death and so very grateful when her father-in-law generously agreed to accompany her to the funeral home.  At one point, the funeral director told Boorstein that one of the women in the family needed to "inspect the body."  Boorstein writes that she must have blanched because her father-in-law said that he would do it.  Because of that moment, when she thinks of her father-in-law, she feels "a big hit of gratitude and heart opening." 

There are kindnesses like that.  They are so significant that we remember them always and we have a deep appreciation for the person who was generous.  Many kindnesses can fit the bill.  Some of them are those being there moments.  But then there are the more random ones, the ones that the person doing the kindness may even have forgotten.  There is a gentleman who has since moved away who defended me after an ugly condo meeting.  I can't imagine that he remembers, but I do.

And then there are the kindnesses I have encountered at violin camp.  A couple of years ago, I was one of the few adult students at a mostly children's violin camp.  I had taken lessons for less than a year and I was not only pretty bad at the violin, but also very intimidated by the whole experience.  In one class, I had a teacher in his 20s (young enough to be my son), who was very accomplished as a fiddler and composer.  Given his age, I was surprised to hear all kinds of wisdom from him on the first day of class, including his take on how we should view our camp experience.  He said that we could either be intimidated by how well other people played or we could be inspired by it.  Although I remained firmly in the intimidated camp, his words introduced the possibility of another lens through which to view the experience.

On the last night of camp, there was a final concert that included playing on stage with the person whose teaching method inspired the camp, a Grammy Award-winning violinist and composer.  I nearly died when my group performed and I seriously considered not returning to the stage for the final number.  Somehow, I found a drop of courage and approached the stage, but I decided to remain partially hidden by the curtains in the wings, so that no one would see me.  Well, the young teacher saw me and motioned for me to join everyone on stage.  I did and had one of the best times of my life.  His kindness, which I cannot imagine that he remembers, gave me the gift of a unique experience.

This year, I wound up in one of his classes again, this time with my son, who enjoys composing music.  At the end of the class, this teacher -- Andy Reiner -- gave my 7-year-old son his business card and told him that he could e-mail him at any time and he would help him with his music.  This is something that Andy generously tells all of his students.  But as I saw my son proudly take the business card, I thought again about the lasting impact that seemingly small moments of kindness can have.