Kindness is like snow. It beautifies everything it covers.
—Kahlil Gibran
A few years ago, I was in New York City for a professional appointment. As it could lead to new work and a new job, I was dressed to impress, in suit, tie, topcoat, shined shoes, carrying a leather portfolio. After the interview, which went well, I realized I needed to reach Grand Central Terminal as quickly as I could in order to catch the early train home, and be able to enjoy the evening with my family. As I turned east onto Fourteenth Street and toward the subway, a homeless man stepped toward me, asking if I could spare money. In my hurry to reach the Terminal, I quickly said ‘No’ and kept walking, only to hear the man cursing at me, and making comments about my having money for nice clothes, but nothing to help anybody else.
I turned the corner, walked a few paces, stopped, and thought, ‘He’s right. Do I even have cash on me? If I don’t, I can find an ATM and give him something so he can eat.’ I stepped to the side of the bustling Holiday traffic in Union Square and checked to see what might be possible. I actually did have money, and so I took a $20 out of my wallet, retraced my steps around the corner, saw the man, and walked up and handed him the folded bill, and told him I hoped his evening would be a little better with this. I turned to make my way back to the subway station, but he gently put his hand on my shoulder, and asked, ‘What changed your mind?’ I was surprised at the action, not to mention the question, and asked him what he just said, as I wasn’t sure I heard correctly. He said, ‘I asked you for money, and you just said no and kept walking like everybody else. I just thought you were another jerk, but when you came back and gave me money, I had to know why.’ I told him, ‘I usually don’t carry cash with me, I have a train to catch, and just kept walking, not even thinking about what you said. And while I’ve heard cursing before, what I really heard was, ‘I need help. From you.’ So I had to see what I could do. That’s why I came back.’ He said ‘Thank you. For listening.’ We held each other’s eyes for a moment, and he said, ‘Don’t you have a train to catch?’ Which brought me back to where we were, and what was in front of me that evening. ‘Yeah, I do. You take care. And thank you for reminding me to listen.’
I walked through the throngs of Holiday shoppers, caught the subway, and made my early train home. Evening had fallen, and I had a long ride ahead of me, so I pulled out the novel I was reading at that time, and began to read, but not for long. The train had reached the countryside, and I just looked out the window at the landscape, as well as the snow flurries swirling, and realized I had, in the space of about two minutes, a significant meeting with another human being, one which started quickly, and in anger, but ended with a real connection with another. A man I may never see again, but one who touched me nonetheless, and brought me out of my own world of my own self-importance, and into the fold of humanity. Yes, it started with a curse, but looking back, perhaps those words were the lightning bolt I needed, reminding me to look around, see others, and be an active part of what the world is and what it presents—both good and bad—and do what we can to make it better than we found it, a little or a lot, for one person or many.