I’ve been thinking a lot recently about compassion and kindness, it’s something that occupies my thoughts not infrequently. We live in an era where the consensus is that self-compassion is necessary, for strength and resilience in seemingly increasingly hostile daily living. The atrophy of community networks, due to harried urban living and accentuation of digital spaces for intimidation and unkindness are explored widely in contemporary media.
In my view, it not just the instances of unkindness themselves, but how this is internalised and reified via the consumption of such stories about online bullying, neighbourhood violence, workplace intimidation (for example) that perpetuates harm. There are scores of articles about how digital consumption is often algorithmically biased to make us feel unhappy, unfulfilled and unloved. Yet there is a counter movement—I believe— artists and individuals who make sharing kindness and positive encouragement their focus.
I know a few of these types personally. A dance student of mine who now creates wonderful dance videos and photography that celebrate the joy of dance. My mother who shares her gorgeously naive art group’s creations. Friends who take pictures of flowers or local cats, which we exchange as a kind of: hello, thinking of you, how are you doing? after long periods of absentia. And, of course, friends who write Substacks sharing their creative works in progress.
I even know one or two writing positive, motivational essays, with beautiful imagery and moments from their daily life. Take a peek at Kate’s essays on rediscovering her creative voice after leaving arts criticism for a spell, or Melis’ excerpts from her upcoming book “Lucky Girl Syndrome”.
One of the things highlighted frequently in writing about Margot Fonteyn, arguably the greatest ballerinas of all time, was her humility and kindness. Her smile is so frequently commented upon, on and off stage.
At the risk of sounding glib, I do think a smile, if you can manage one, is a beautiful act of kindness toward a stranger. A gesture to say, you’re safe, I see you, I’m listening. Obviously there are moments when we might be so overwhelmed with stress or sadness that we cannot manage one. But this gesture was universally appreciated by people who met Margot, because it was gracious, present and genuine.
I’ve been listening to a wonderful author, Mel Robbins, recently. She has become very popular in the realm of self-help for her famous “Let them” approach. The idea is that what matters the most is creating the conditions for kindness and positivity in your own mind, and not distracting yourself too much with things that are outside of your control or the opinions of people who are not immediately consequential in your life.
Humans are so vastly different, in experiences and inclinations. I like this saying “you can’t make everyone like you, you’re not pizza.” It sounds very silly, and it is, but so are the reasons some people might not care for you very much, and as long as you focus your energy on being kind and positive, that might not be important at all.
I love her exercise “Finding hearts”. It’s true, once you start looking for the good and the beautiful in the world, you start to see more of it. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy just as looking for the bad and the ugly, with a rancorous, bitter perspective. Sometimes it might feel the easier option to dwell on the negative, on the wrongs you feel the world has done to you (there are many wrongs) but over time, I think it causes us much more grief than necessary. I know which channel I’d rather put my energy into, and which way I’d rather feel.
I love the words of Ocean Vuong: Beauty is medicinal to me. It’s not useless. Vuong is a wonder at sharing his vulnerability. All of his work is preoccupied with the ways in which violence, grief, even trauma can be acknowledged and present but so can great beauty and human goodness. I love this about Mary Oliver’s work too, who is referenced in my new poem below. Like Vuong and Oliver, I feel that every time I look for the beauty and the good, I feel better, and those around me often do too. It’s about—in Oliver’s words— paying attention.
Here are some hearts I found recently:
Here is a new poem, after Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese, on Margot Fonteyn, and “finding hearts”.
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