Thread by @paraicodonnell

So, there’s a little story I’ve been meaning to tell.

It isn’t funny or anything. It’s not one of those stories. It’s just something that happened, something that altered me in a small way.

And I’ve wanted to talk about this thing, but I couldn’t see a way, not without revealing things I wouldn’t normally choose to reveal. You’ll see what I mean.

But I’ve been thinking about it, and it seems important enough – again, in a very small way – for me to set aside my reservations, just this once.

This is a lot of throat clearing, I know, but again, you’ll see what I mean. There are reasons.

So, I was in New York a couple of weeks ago, and I left a meeting to go and get coffee. Not a killer opening, but I did warn you. It’s not that kind of story.

I got the coffee, in some deli on Eighth Avenue, and as I was coming out, a homeless guy caught my eye.

‘You help me out, brother?’

Now, this is the first thing I didn’t want to talk about. We all help out, when we can, and we don’t talk about it. That’s kind of how it works.

But there was something different about this, and about him. I don’t mean something that made him especially deserving of sympathy, that’s an abhorrent notion. His need made him deserving of sympathy. I’m no ethicist, but I don’t think that’s subject to qualification.

What I mean is that I liked this guy. That’s all. I liked him immediately, and for a moment it was as if – and I know this sounds like some piss-warm little homily – it was if we were friends who had run into each other under mildly embarrassing circumstances.

‘You help me out?’ he said again. ‘I just gotta catch a bus.’

So, I said, ‘Sure’, and I tried to get my wallet out, and this is where things got interesting, because I was holding not just a big deli bag full of coffee, but also my stick.

And this is the other thing I didn’t want to talk about. I do use a stick, but it’s not something I would normally mention. I mean, first, who doesn’t use sticks in some capacity? It’s kind of basic stuff, when you’re a primate. It’s tool use.

But also, the stick tends to arouse sympathy, which I don’t want at the best of times, and which I especially don’t want in the context of this story, but unfortunately, the stick turns out to be a key plot point.

So, I started fumbling, and the guy said, ‘Help you out?’

‘Would you?’ I said. ‘That’d be great.’

He then held the deli bag while I fussed with my wallet, and handed it back when I’d passed him the money.

‘Thanks, man.’

‘Great, thanks. I had to get a lot of coffee.’

And then he noticed what I’d given him, and this is the really difficult part. It doesn’t matter how much it was, and I realise that’s it’s obscene even to hint at that, but the story doesn’t make sense unless you can figure out that it was more than he was expecting.

So, let’s just say that. Let’s just say that it was more than he was expecting.

‘Aw, man,’ he said.

‘No, really, just—’

I was embarrassed, and he wanted to do something, to make a gesture, because it wasn’t really about the money, it was about the moment, how funny it was.

He wanted to give me something. Not something in return, but something.

He grasped my shoulder, and I tried to grasp his, but it was a super clunky move, because at this point I was holding the bag and the stick again.

‘Hey, let me—’ Very gently, he took hold of the stick. ‘Let me get that for you.’

Then he held the stick – cradled it, really, like was a sceptre or something – and held up his fist for a bump.

‘God bless you, man,’ he said, passing the stick back. ‘Be at peace.’

‘I will,’ I said. ‘I am, I think. I am at peace.’

And that was it. We told each other to take care and we said goodbye.

But like I said, something had happened, and for days afterwards, I tried to work out what it was.

And what it comes down to, I think, has to do with the nature of kindness, with the *properties* of kindness.

The first of these is its commutative property. Acts of kindness are acts of human affirmation, and as such they are inherently reciprocal.

But it’s not just that. Kindness is also generative. It’s not a transaction that makes you feel better, but a an interaction that gives rise to something that belongs to no one.

It is an increment of love, an event that minutely ramifies our understanding of human dignity.

And that’s all. That’s the story, and it’s a story from which I badly want to eradicate myself because it isn’t about me.

Be kind when you can. We’re running out of time and can no longer be saved, but there are possibilities even now that we don’t fully understand.

Be kind. Let him hold what you’re carrying and take his hand when he offers it. See him and let him see you.

There are no miracles, but there are surviving forms of grace.

And you know what? Maybe carry a stick, even if you don’t need one.

Take care. Be at peace.