For nearly six weeks a cerulean blue portable toilet sat on a patch of grass next to our garage throughout the construction of our deck. Poor little lot, it didn’t stand a chance. When the project was complete the porta-potty was lifted and hauled away, leaving a scorched block of orange blades and dirt. Our lawn was branded like cattle.
I’d forgotten about the resiliency of grass. To my surprise, its renewal began on the first day of freedom, shocked and abused, the humble square steadily moved from citrus back to green. I’ve been helping it along by sprinkling fresh seed and soil in the bald spots and watering it twice a day. I think this grass, like all other grass, would’ve made a return on its own. It does this regularly and without ceremony. I often say I want to be more like grass, sturdy and steady. I am not those things right now.
The world is hard again and for most people it never got easy. In times like this, the sturdy and resilient among us shine like beacons in a storm. We need these people desperately, yet seldom do we use the currency of our voices to lift them. To turn the tide, let me tell you about one such person.
Our dentist is on the starting line-up of our personal resiliency team, proving over and over again his capacity to take good care of others when really, he is very tired like the rest of us. Recently, my husband’s temporary crown placed earlier in the day popped off at dinner. After an uncomfortable night nursing the exposed cavern in his mouth Dan called our dental office first thing the next morning only to learn they were closed for a well-deserved day off. Despite this, Our dentist personally responded to Dan’s plea for help moments after he listened to the phone message. He met Dan at the empty office within the hour to ease his pain and took care of Dan as though he were family, as he has done so for the nearly two decades we have known him.
Our dentist prioritized someone else’s well-being over his own. This seemed a grand and extraordinary gesture to us, yet I know him to be a person who does things like this regularly. I think we all can name someone who performs selfless acts quietly and informally, someone we’ve taken for granted in this tumultuous and egocentric time. The cure for selfishness is gratitude, which coincidentally, bounces relief and good feelings right back into us. It’s no secret I feel a rush of endorphins when I perform a random act of kindness but I’ve been wondering lately, what if generosity was my daily practice, intentional, rather than random? Could I be happier giving more of myself to others? Sometimes I fail when much is asked of me but this, I think I can do. I think you can do it, too.
We are all so tired and feeling blanched from Covid like abused blades of grass trying to catch a break. We’re parched and thirsty, searching for relief from hard things. The feeling I get when I help others might be the relief I’m looking for, good feelings returned back to me like a gentle wave, only sometimes I might have to wait, expect nothing in return, and be happy when goodness is instead delivered to someone I love, perhaps in the form of a securely replaced temporary crown. It only takes a moment to notice the transference of goodness, which feels like hope, and you have to be looking or you will miss it. We will not be perfect and we may be crushed now and again by heavy things, but I think if we try to help each other we can get through this.
Copyright (2021) Suzanne Bayer. All Rights Reserved