Why little acts of kindness go a long way in this pandemic

ON THIS page nine months ago, in the midst of our first Covid19 confinement, I asked a question: “Who will you be when this lockdown is all over?” What I didn’t realise last April, however, was that almost a year later I’d still be wondering – in relation to myself – what the answer to that question will be. We have all had to adjust; the stress and lack of freedom engendered by the killer germ being life-changing for so many people, even for those of us so far lucky enough not to have fallen victim to the virus, or, indeed, to have been left bereaved and bereft from the loss of loved ones in the wake of its deadly rampage.

Nine months on many things are the same. We are back in a very restrictive lockdown.

We are still, on a daily basis, waiting with bated breath for the evening roll-call of the dead and the diagnosed. Our dear departed are still being denied the shared mourning, the communal, reflective remembrancing that is both their human entitlement and also such an inherent and important part of our bereavement culture. Wedding dates are still being re-scheduled. Meanwhile, sitting on a bar stool in a pub, reading the paper or shooting the breeze with two or three friends, remains but a distant, carefree memory.

But while the picture looks the same on many fronts – something that obviously continues to give rise to despondency – things have also changed since last April. And in a good way.

The advent of the vaccine has brought hope: a practical intervention that will alleviate the daily dread that overhangs us all, and will, in all probability, eventually send the pandemic packing.

There are other changes too, though, subtle changes that are also making their presence felt. Silver linings glinting out here and there from the dark clouds that still hang over us. Little bright glimmers of joy and hope that speak of a better future ahead. A better society. A better human race.

For myself, I know that I am more tolerant than I was last January. More prepared to listen to opinions which directly conflict with my own. I now find myself saying “fair enough” in telephone discussions when once my response, in all likelihood, would have been “now, hang on a minute…”

Am I more tolerant because I’m so worn down by the pandemic that I’ve given up and just don’t care as much these days? No, it’s because I care far more; it’s because I have learned to value even more the people who are central to my life. So I don’t try to ‘fix’ them any more. I don’t try to point out the error (as I see it) of their arguments, the lack of veracity to their viewpoint. It’s a long number of months now, for example, since a close friend has had cause to say to me, “don’t be so defensive”.

Whatever about the unexpected pandemic bounce delivered in relation to my own tolerance level, I also wondered nine months ago if the pandemic would make us a kinder people. Just generally kinder, more caring, less selfish.

Almost a year later, I think it has. I witness it, in tiny ways, on an almost daily basis. Where once a car driver would have all but mown me down if I attempted to skip across the road with my dog on his lead, now, more often than not, drivers slow to a stop while I am still on the edge of the pavement, and with a wave of the hand grant me leave to cross in front of them. Even a bus driver – yes, a bus driver – did exactly that on a busy street the other day.

And what do I do now every time I encounter such a little act of kindness? I give them a wave of thanks. And then they wave back again, turning this into what is essentially a moment-in-time exchange, a small lesson in humanity between two people who don’t even know each other.

In tough times, kindness counts. A lesson learned, and a reason to be cheerful, nine months on.