That Everything is OK in the World Feeling

I think we all get that warm feeling when we witness someone acting with kindness. It might be helping an animal in danger, supporting a vulnerable person or simply doing something thoughtful for a complete stranger.

There is no doubt that I feel good when I give up my seat for an elderly person or a pregnant woman. On trains and buses, it is often more than one person who offers. It does not seem to be specific to any age or gender. Seeing it—and doing it myself—makes me feel a little better about the world.

The cost of your new act of friendship only becomes apparent when the train or bus suddenly jars and you feel a sprain developing in your ankle. Or an announcement comes over the tannoy to say that your mode of transport will be standing still for at least another twenty minutes.

That is when you think, “I could really do with sitting down about now.”

You look forlornly at the lovely, comfortable seat that had been yours only a few minutes earlier. The person you gave it to looks so happy.

A Terrible Error of Judgement

I once made an error of judgement that made me want the train floor to swallow me up.

It was an easy mistake to make. I had only glanced at a badge, and my glasses were still covered in tiny drops from that horrible spitting rain that somehow comes at you from every direction.

Or perhaps I was simply trying too hard to be nice.

“Would you like a seat?” I asked.

The train was crowded, and the woman who had just boarded looked tired, sweaty and exhausted. I stood up and guarded my newly vacated seat, making sure nobody else took it before she could reach it.

“I am not pregnant,” she said loudly.

Then, equally loudly: “I don’t think it’s right to fat-shame people in public. Are you saying I’m fat?”

“Erm…”

This had seriously backfired.

I am no stick insect myself. I have a beer belly. Yet nobody has ever mistaken me for being pregnant.

My literal and honest mind briefly considered answering her question directly. Thankfully, another part of my brain intervened. By now, everyone within earshot was listening. Most of them still had their headphones on, but I had a feeling the music and podcasts had mysteriously been paused.

You know the feeling when an argument begins in a public place. You do not want to stare, but you desperately want to know what is happening. You also feel an obligation to gather enough information to start a new gossip stream when you get home.

“Well, no,” I said. “I was just seeing if you wanted to take some weight off…”

Oh God.

I was now making it considerably worse.

The woman looked as though smoke might start coming out of her ears. I glanced at the screen showing the next station. It was not my stop, but it was only three minutes away.

I looked at the windows. No, I could not break one.

What about the emergency button? Did this count as an emergency?

Thankfully, the train came to my rescue. It suddenly jarred on the tracks, sending several people stumbling. I fell backwards into my seat.

Once the train had stopped and everyone had recovered, the woman walked over. I stood up again, and she sat down.

Nothing was said until I hurried towards the doors to escape my shame.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

I still got off at a station that was not mine. Even so, I felt a little warmer inside.

The spitting rain that had surrounded me when I boarded had turned torrential. That was also the moment I realised I had left my umbrella on the train.

Kindness Behind the Wheel

I know it sounds inconsequential, but I also like giving way to people when I am driving. It is hard enough turning across traffic—or committing the audacious act of turning right—without everybody making it more difficult.

When I let someone out, I sometimes look in the mirror and hope the driver behind me might congratulate me and share in my moment of kindness.

This rarely happens.

Instead, I see rude words being mouthed, an occasional hand gesture, flashing headlights or hear an angry blast of the horn.

Sometimes I imagine getting out, walking back to their car and explaining the importance of kindness and why I chose to let the other driver through. Then I remember that trying to reason with someone in the middle of a fit of road rage would probably end with me being knocked out.

Road rage, cycle rage and motorbike rage all seem a little excessive.

That does not mean I am innocent.

I have caught myself becoming annoyed when another driver fails to accept my own generous act of kindness. I flash my headlights to say, “Go on, my new friend. I don’t mind. Yes, you may come out.”

Then I wait for approximately one second.

If the car has not moved or shown any sign of moving, I begin muttering.

“There’s me going out of my way. I’ll probably be five minutes late now.”

This is an exaggeration, even to myself—and I already know I am lying. The truth is that I was running late because of my own laziness.

Still, I drive away feeling offended that the other person failed to participate properly in my carefully arranged act of generosity.

The Small Things Still Count

I do not take trains or buses as frequently as I once did because I no longer work in the city. Perhaps that is why I do not see as many acts of kindness—or maybe I am simply not looking closely enough.

I like visiting my local M&S because there is someone at the door who actually says hello and goodbye. More importantly, he smiles when he says it.

I assume he is also there as a security guard, but he seems to be a nice one.

Another recent act of kindness happened at my local Aldi. The checkouts were packed with trolleys overflowing with food, while I stood holding the few items I had forgotten earlier. I found myself yearning for a Tesco-style checkout that separates people with a thousand things from those who only came in for one or two.

“Excuse me, mate,” someone said. “Do you want to come to the front of our till? You’ll be here all day waiting.”

I needed no further encouragement. I followed him, said thank you about twenty times, paid for my shopping and said thank you again.

I was genuinely surprised. He was not even in my queue. He had noticed me from another checkout, probably standing there muttering about how unfair life was.

I may not see as many acts of kindness in person now, but I see thousands of them on social media.

Some are ridiculous. Some are clearly generated or staged. But when they are genuine and done well, I find myself grateful that people have cameras on their phones and can show kindness to the world.

There is something reassuring about seeing a stranger help another person without expecting anything in return.

These actions are usually small. They do not solve every problem, and they rarely make the news. Sometimes they cost us a comfortable seat, make us late by several seconds or leave us standing in torrential rain without an umbrella.

But for a brief moment, they give us that feeling that everything is OK in the world.

And I think we could all do with a little more of that.