Two Thoughts On Kindness
My friends, we are truly living in the age of opportunity. Not of discovery, of wealth, but of true transformative kindness.
Two days ago, a friend of mine was stranded in an airport. She needed someone to pick her up and give her a place to sleep, but she didn't know anyone in Seattle. So she posted on Twitter, and a dozen of us re-tweeted her plea, and a stranger picked her up at the airport and took her home, no questions asked.
Later that same day, another friend asked me if I knew anyone in Boston who could give him and a friend a ride to an important appointment. I didn't, but again, Twitter, and a wonderful man saved the day. Another stranger.
Last night, I got into San Diego late, after turbulence on flight number two and a death onboard flight number one. I stood weary on the sidewalk and a car pulled up. I had never met the woman who drove it, but she took me home with her and showed me to the guest room and served me a piece of the cake she'd baked for the occasion.
I have been honest about the fact that recently I have been getting rough around the edges. I am worn out. I wonder how much the cracks are showing. I force charm and politeness but the tired rope's end seeps through. I want to love and be kind, but I am very tired. I've been lashing out in anger. I've been crying over books on airplanes.
I am not much of a crier, but there is one thing that always does it--- huge acts of kindness. I don't bat an eyelash when the love of J.M. Barrie's life dies, but the scene in Finding Neverland when they lead the orphan children into the theatre always makes me weep. I just read Water for Elephants (and you should too, it's incredible) and I cried, multiple times... because of kindness.
Before the internet, opportunities to be kind were more local. Your friends, your family, your neighbors, your tribe, although I remember my mother helping a man who was having a seizure at a book sale and picking up hitchhikers when I was a kid.
But the internet has expanded our idea of "friends" and "tribe" and now strangers rescue friends of friends of friends when they're stranded at airports. There is a palpable feeling that we're all in this together. My own couch has housed its fair share of wayward travelers, some of whom I'd met for moments or not at all before they appeared.
These days we are all Blanche Dubois and depend on the kindness of strangers. These days we are all strangers... but not for long.
---
I have been thinking a lot about kindness recently. Over a year ago, I had a moment, a choice that presented itself: be kind or say no. A girl stood in front of me and I truly believe that something greater than me softened my heart and led me to the right choice.
I was in Denver. Amanda wasn't signing autographs that night. It had been a rough show and she needed to rest her voice, so I was out with Brian as he signed. It seemed like every other person was asking, the first words out of their mouth, "Where's Amanda?" and I thought how awkward that must be for him.
A few nights before in Albuquerque I'd done a mean thing to a couple of fans. They were waiting by the empty bus and I implied to them if they waited long enough the band would eventually come out. I was frustrated with The Fans at that point, their intense need was overwhelming, and they seemed ravenous.
I bragged to the crew about my little joke and Amanda heard and she insisted we go outside and meet those girls. It was the first time she got angry with me. She told me afterward that if I didn't find a way to love those girls, and all the others like them, I wouldn't last six months. I felt so guilty that I let those girls watch soundcheck from the back, but I didn't tell Amanda that. I didn't want her to know that she was right.
I was in Denver and the guilt had been replaced by discomfort again. So many people, all with so much need. It was a rough show and I could hear my bunk calling me.
And then there was a girl standing in front of me. She had huge blue eyes and she said she had something for Amanda in her car, but the guard told her if she left she couldn't come back in. I started to say, "Rules are rules," but it caught in my throat. I heard Amanda's voice in my head and I looked at the kid's eyes and she was so... hopeful.
I asked how far her car was and she said right down the street. I told her she had three minutes. Sure enough, moments later she was back, breathless... and holding the most gorgeous, hand-painted guitar, with a portrait of Amanda on the face of it.
If the ground had opened up into a black pit at that moment, I would have climbed down into it from pure shame.
I told the girl to wait there and I went to the dressing room. I told Amanda, there's a girl who has a present for you, and I'm going to bring her down.
She said no, she wasn't seeing anyone. Rough show. I insisted. She said, okay, ninety seconds.
And it was just bare seconds. The girl gave Amanda the guitar and they hugged and then we were walking back through the dark venue, the girl and I. She started to cry and she said, "You don't know what that meant to me."
"Actually, I do," I responded.
In that moment, I knew that I'd been trying too hard to be a "professional." I'd been creating imaginary lines between "us" and "The Fans." I'd been denying my own maternity in this business--- I was there because I loved Amanda's art and because I flew to see the Dolls in Norfolk on a whim and ended up on a plane next to the right person.
That girl appeared exactly when I needed her to. She was the fan who taught me how to love the fans--- and that The Fans as a concept didn't work. They weren't a greedy, hungry mass--- they were Carly and Shannon and Johanna and Yoshiki and Jesse and Briar and Ranga and Rob and Doug and JR and Caroline and Amber and Quinn and Hayley and Mike and Jennifer and Kay and Lucy and Trixy Grace and JessyLou and Edgar and Jessi and Solangel and Brianne and Emily and Micky and Ryan and and and I know I am forgetting so many of these amazing PEOPLE.
The trick to loving The Fans was simple: love the individual human beings.
And that I can do. It's hard to remember when Amanda is gaining notoriety and I can't interact with everyone individually and people are frustrated with shit that's gone wrong, but I remind myself there is no collective consciousness. There are only human beings.
What was I saying? Oh, right. Kindness. I was in Denver and there was a girl and I said yes.
She found me on the internet months later and was surprised that I remembered her name.
It was Kayla.
I forget my keys, I forget entire conversations, but her name stuck in my head because it was important.
It is more than a year later, and I am in love with that same Kayla.
Every so often, usually when it's dark and we've lapsed into quiet, one of us marvels how much we would have missed if I'd said no.
These days I try to always say yes.
Love,
Beth
Two days ago, a friend of mine was stranded in an airport. She needed someone to pick her up and give her a place to sleep, but she didn't know anyone in Seattle. So she posted on Twitter, and a dozen of us re-tweeted her plea, and a stranger picked her up at the airport and took her home, no questions asked.
Later that same day, another friend asked me if I knew anyone in Boston who could give him and a friend a ride to an important appointment. I didn't, but again, Twitter, and a wonderful man saved the day. Another stranger.
Last night, I got into San Diego late, after turbulence on flight number two and a death onboard flight number one. I stood weary on the sidewalk and a car pulled up. I had never met the woman who drove it, but she took me home with her and showed me to the guest room and served me a piece of the cake she'd baked for the occasion.
I have been honest about the fact that recently I have been getting rough around the edges. I am worn out. I wonder how much the cracks are showing. I force charm and politeness but the tired rope's end seeps through. I want to love and be kind, but I am very tired. I've been lashing out in anger. I've been crying over books on airplanes.
I am not much of a crier, but there is one thing that always does it--- huge acts of kindness. I don't bat an eyelash when the love of J.M. Barrie's life dies, but the scene in Finding Neverland when they lead the orphan children into the theatre always makes me weep. I just read Water for Elephants (and you should too, it's incredible) and I cried, multiple times... because of kindness.
Before the internet, opportunities to be kind were more local. Your friends, your family, your neighbors, your tribe, although I remember my mother helping a man who was having a seizure at a book sale and picking up hitchhikers when I was a kid.
But the internet has expanded our idea of "friends" and "tribe" and now strangers rescue friends of friends of friends when they're stranded at airports. There is a palpable feeling that we're all in this together. My own couch has housed its fair share of wayward travelers, some of whom I'd met for moments or not at all before they appeared.
These days we are all Blanche Dubois and depend on the kindness of strangers. These days we are all strangers... but not for long.
---
I have been thinking a lot about kindness recently. Over a year ago, I had a moment, a choice that presented itself: be kind or say no. A girl stood in front of me and I truly believe that something greater than me softened my heart and led me to the right choice.
I was in Denver. Amanda wasn't signing autographs that night. It had been a rough show and she needed to rest her voice, so I was out with Brian as he signed. It seemed like every other person was asking, the first words out of their mouth, "Where's Amanda?" and I thought how awkward that must be for him.
A few nights before in Albuquerque I'd done a mean thing to a couple of fans. They were waiting by the empty bus and I implied to them if they waited long enough the band would eventually come out. I was frustrated with The Fans at that point, their intense need was overwhelming, and they seemed ravenous.
I bragged to the crew about my little joke and Amanda heard and she insisted we go outside and meet those girls. It was the first time she got angry with me. She told me afterward that if I didn't find a way to love those girls, and all the others like them, I wouldn't last six months. I felt so guilty that I let those girls watch soundcheck from the back, but I didn't tell Amanda that. I didn't want her to know that she was right.
I was in Denver and the guilt had been replaced by discomfort again. So many people, all with so much need. It was a rough show and I could hear my bunk calling me.
And then there was a girl standing in front of me. She had huge blue eyes and she said she had something for Amanda in her car, but the guard told her if she left she couldn't come back in. I started to say, "Rules are rules," but it caught in my throat. I heard Amanda's voice in my head and I looked at the kid's eyes and she was so... hopeful.
I asked how far her car was and she said right down the street. I told her she had three minutes. Sure enough, moments later she was back, breathless... and holding the most gorgeous, hand-painted guitar, with a portrait of Amanda on the face of it.
If the ground had opened up into a black pit at that moment, I would have climbed down into it from pure shame.
I told the girl to wait there and I went to the dressing room. I told Amanda, there's a girl who has a present for you, and I'm going to bring her down.
She said no, she wasn't seeing anyone. Rough show. I insisted. She said, okay, ninety seconds.
And it was just bare seconds. The girl gave Amanda the guitar and they hugged and then we were walking back through the dark venue, the girl and I. She started to cry and she said, "You don't know what that meant to me."
"Actually, I do," I responded.
In that moment, I knew that I'd been trying too hard to be a "professional." I'd been creating imaginary lines between "us" and "The Fans." I'd been denying my own maternity in this business--- I was there because I loved Amanda's art and because I flew to see the Dolls in Norfolk on a whim and ended up on a plane next to the right person.
That girl appeared exactly when I needed her to. She was the fan who taught me how to love the fans--- and that The Fans as a concept didn't work. They weren't a greedy, hungry mass--- they were Carly and Shannon and Johanna and Yoshiki and Jesse and Briar and Ranga and Rob and Doug and JR and Caroline and Amber and Quinn and Hayley and Mike and Jennifer and Kay and Lucy and Trixy Grace and JessyLou and Edgar and Jessi and Solangel and Brianne and Emily and Micky and Ryan and and and I know I am forgetting so many of these amazing PEOPLE.
The trick to loving The Fans was simple: love the individual human beings.
And that I can do. It's hard to remember when Amanda is gaining notoriety and I can't interact with everyone individually and people are frustrated with shit that's gone wrong, but I remind myself there is no collective consciousness. There are only human beings.
What was I saying? Oh, right. Kindness. I was in Denver and there was a girl and I said yes.
She found me on the internet months later and was surprised that I remembered her name.
It was Kayla.
I forget my keys, I forget entire conversations, but her name stuck in my head because it was important.
It is more than a year later, and I am in love with that same Kayla.
Every so often, usually when it's dark and we've lapsed into quiet, one of us marvels how much we would have missed if I'd said no.
These days I try to always say yes.
Love,
Beth