This postcard fell out of the book I was reading in bed this morning. The book is called Love Anthony, by Lisa Genova – you may know her as the writer of the novel on which the film Still Alice was based. I was having a duvet morning. Sometimes I just feel inexplicably low and flat and tired and this morning was one of those days. Sometimes I have to get up anyway because there are things that must be done and obligations and commitments that must be met, but this morning I was lucky and had the luxury of being able to snuggle up, stay put, and finish the book.
The book is a touching story about the bereaved mother of a young boy with autism who died at the age of ten, and another woman whose husband has just left her for someone else, and how their paths intermingle and cross, ultimately helping both of them to come to terms with their losses. Although its subject would seem to be about autism, the story is really about love in its various forms, and most of all, about loving unconditionally. It’s beautifully written and a compelling read, and I didn’t want to put it down. I cried. Much of it was to do with the story in the book, but some of it was because it linked to things in my own past that the story brought to mind, and some of it was simply because I was feeling a little low anyway. And then the postcard fell out.
On the back is printed: WRITE SOMETHING NICE TO SOMEONE YOU’VE NEVER MET. There’s an empty space for writing in, and then instructions to leave the postcard somewhere where someone will find it – a library book, a cafe table, a pigeon hole. Inside the box, someone had written this:
Beauty begins the moment you decide to be yourself.
Don’t confuse your path with your destination. Just because it’s stormy now doesn’t mean you aren’t headed for sunshine.
After reading it, I cried some more, because I believe that what you need comes to you at just the right time and because somebody, somewhere had cared enough to place the postcard in the book in the hope that it might help whoever read it.
There seems to be so much unkindness and anger in the world at the moment, so much tragedy and hatred and suffering and intolerance. These things seem so huge that it’s hard to know what you can do that will make any difference. I know I’m not the kind of person who’s ever going to do great things. I’m not going to suffer for a cause, volunteer in war-torn countries, be a political agitator, generate thousands for charity, or anything like that. But I do believe in kindness, and I do believe that small kindnesses can make a big difference. I’m aware that I have many flaws, and I know that, like most of us, I’ve been unkind when I could have done better, or failed to be kind when it would have been easy for me. But I do try, whenever I feel able, to carry out some small and unexpected kindnesses. And I’ve been on the receiving end of many small kindnesses, and they have touched me deeply at the time and will live in my memory for always.
So I think it’s possible to make a difference in the world in very small ways. We can’t all do ‘big’ stuff, but small gestures can mean a lot and are something everyone can manage. The postcard was a small and lovely, unexpected gift from someone who would get nothing in return other than the hope that it cheered the person who found it. Last week I was clearing out my desk drawers, and I found a number of photos that I had printed for various reasons but never used. I thought it would be nice to adopt the postcard idea and do something similar with the prints. It’s a small thing to do – a very small thing – but I hope that it might make a difference to someone, somewhere, like this one did for me.
Constant kindness can accomplish much. As the sun makes ice melt, kindness causes misunderstanding, mistrust, and hostility to evaporate.