kindness

I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. That's not my line, of course, but I love it. It's a scary thing, to relate to the key statement of survival made by a half-crazed and lonely older sister of a woman in an abusive marriage, character in a play written early in the last century and still around.

It's still around because it's true. Many of us depend on people we don't know and haven't met. My proof that the world is essentially a good place? It always works out, somehow. Strangers have given me food and shelter, good conversation and a comforting shoulder. Strangers have given me good advice and bad, good company and bad, rides to the airport and shirts off their backs (really!) but most often with a warm and loving and open heart, or at minimum a kind of frank curiosity that can be entertaining if you don't take offense. The world can be a scary place to take chances. Believing in the kindness of strangers makes it easier.

I took a trip this weekend and depended a lot on the kindness of of strangers. Once again, I was lucky; as ever, all of those people came through for whatever reasons they carry. But I also got to depend on the kindness of friends. I also got to revel in their company and laugh and hug and talk and tell stories and know, without even that slight glimmer of doubt that comes from being with strangers, know that the kindness we share is true and real and good...and there. Always there.

And that means I can do something that most of them disagree with, and know they've still got my back, know that they will honour my decision, know that they will still welcome me in their lives.

I am so lucky, and so blessed, and so grateful.