The Kindness of Strangers

Eleven at night, and the screen is still the only light in the room. Scams, accidents, people tearing into each other — one page after another. Read enough of it and he starts to believe everyone out there is on guard, everyone is only looking out for themselves.

Then he remembers this afternoon, coming home from work, someone stood there holding the lift door open for him. That never makes the news. Nobody filmed it, nobody told anyone about it. It happened and dissolved in about three seconds. Only the bad news gets written down, so by the end of the day the bad news is all he has left.

He once tried to work out the last time anyone helped him, and came up with nothing. Then he remembered: yesterday, a stranger walking past reminded him his kickstand was still up, and kept walking without looking back. So it isn't that nobody helps. He just forgot to count.

The woman at the market counts his change back exactly, down to the last note. He takes it and walks off without a thank you, and it nags at him for days. But she wasn't waiting for one — she'd already turned to the next customer. To her it isn't a good deed worth remembering. It's just how she sells things, every day.

They help, then they're gone. You owe them and never knew.

Try one thing this week: notice whether someone did something kind for you that you never got around to thanking them for. It won't change the world. But if you can count a few of those in a single week — is the world you keep calling awful actually that awful?