Finding Connection through Small Kindness

Elderly woman with glasses using a mobile phone

Original published by Open Gate Sangha as part of the Peace Room Project

Before the isolating constraints of the COVID-19 virus, I lived and worked alone. Mostly, I do solitude well, feeling any sense of loneliness in the evening, feeling into the emptiness when purpose and pleasure are set aside for the day. So the current constraints are not significantly different for me now in terms of habit, even if radically different in terms of the wider social, economic, and health spheres surrounding me. I have lived with a fairly simple guideline—do what I can do, whatever that might be.

So, as a daily discipline, finding creative ways to connect is now my new normal: a card to my mother, with fold out paper hands and arms to provide the hug I cannot now give as she is locked down in a long-term care facility; screen calling friends to share a book passage; a virtual/local walk apart-but-together; or a simple check in. I found one Sunday morning, walking by myself in a park as it snowed lightly on the geese gathered there, how exquisitely aware I was of the quality of the connections I have with friends, with neighbors, with family. With everything I could see and hear in the park. With everything.

In making space to connect every day, what would normally be forgettable small kindnesses now seem full. While I would like to be able to tell a story about offering great acts of kindness and love, what is truer are my choices to be present in an online circle of friends, gathered in meditation, with the intention to bring light to a person or situation. To gather in an online book study to deepen my understanding of Aikido and the harmony of nature. To join a family member in troubleshooting a problem with her computer without knowing if I can help, both of us finding care in our shared attempt. To offer free online Feldenkrais sessions and recordings to support those who want a little support.

I am still most likely to feel lonely in my solitude in the evenings as I settle out of my day’s pursuits. There is no one in my bubble. But I notice a subtle sufficiency growing within me, of things being enough, just as they are. Out of this, I can be more present to the salesperson who needs to process her anxiety when I call with my request for something; to a friend struggling with today’s bad news; to the fear rising for my mother who will likely not survive an outbreak; to the hard, careful, work of the health care professionals doing their utmost to stop virus transmission on their watch. To the vulnerability of what comes next. I don’t know what wisdom this is—just that it is following the flow of each day.