I Recieve More Kindness

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When I describe myself as a writer, I fully expect the Are-You-Kidding-Me police to put me up against a wall, in full view of people who are actual writers. However, since September of 2023, writing is how I spend the bulk of my energy. I suppose I could turn to the authorities and plead, “But I didn’t say I was a good writer.” Then I could hope to be let off with a warning and an admonition, “Don’t let us catch you doing this again!”

As a result, this essay puts me in jeopardy. I am now a renegade. An outlaw. On the lamb. FBI’s occasionally wanted man. It’s a lot of pressure.

In my last essay, I described how I felt earlier that weekend. That it could be described as a semi-panic attack. I say semi, because I was able to attend a meeting (online), I was able to go to the Orcas Store, and drive both ways. As a result, this limited incident will not be enough to get me into the Anxiety World Cup coming up this summer.

I know I haven’t gotten to kindness yet. I’ll be ready in a minute or two. After all, every great drag car racer smokes their tires before a heat so they get a better grip. A quick survey of Island Market would show that most people think it would be better, in general, if I had a better grip, but that takes us far afield of the point I’m trying to make.

I want to start here. I use a Thesaurus. Actually, I depend on a Thesaurus. I’ve found that I love this aspect of writing very much. A bad description would sound like this: It’s like getting dropped off at the movies, and it’s dark. Your well-meaning parent wants to fund your heart's desire so you can get Junior Mints. But…. Instead of giving you five dollars, in the darkness, they fish out a twenty. Hosana, Hosana, Now it’s Junior Mints, Whoppers, a Butterfinger, and a large popcorn with butter and salt. There will be a battle to see who gets to sit at your elbows.

When I’ve used a word once, and I really want to use it again just a few sentences later, I go to the Thesaurus. When I do that, I have twenty dollars, and I’m standing in front of the concession counter.

All right, we have arrived at our destination.

Kindness. Decency. Goodness. Grace. Humanity, Patience. Sweetness. Tenderness. Unselfishness.

And that’s just a few of the synonyms I’m given. Can you see how much fun it is? It is very much like being at Jack-in-the-Box and getting to choose one of six different dipping sauces. Hallelujah.

This brings us to Saturday. The occasion was a retirement party to celebrate an Orcas Island icon. A mix of “Holy Shit, you stayed at one place for a million years,” and “We got lucky the day you were born,” kind of thing.

Well-attended doesn’t do justice to the mass of humanity that was present. More accurately would be to describe the crowd as ‘Packed Like Sardines.’ So, that’s happening.

Plus, I watch the news. Plus, I participate on Facebook like someone seeking the lost map to the Ringling Brothers’ fortune. No corner left unturned. Plus, I eat like I’m sixteen years old. Plus, plus, plus.

Our band, WildChild, is giving it the best we have, and people are digging it. Everyone sounds great, except for me. Because I’ve forgotten how to play the guitar. After sixty years.

I can hear in my head what I want to do, but I can’t get my fingers to go there. I’m having trouble remembering how a song goes. This isn’t going to be a good night for me.

The previous Thursday, we met for practice. Something happened that has never happened before. I nailed the solo to Take It Easy. The first time ever in the last fifty attempts. On this night, I can hear it in my head, but I can’t see it on the fretboard. My fingers aren’t plucking the right strings. I’m out of key. I can’t do something that I’ve done for sixty years.

Because

I’m having a panic attack. Here is where we begin to experience the flood of kindness.

Kindness #1

Bruce asks me once if I’m doing okay. I respond, “It’s just a flesh wound!” But five minutes later, he asks again, and I admit I’m not doing that well.

Kindness #2

I ask someone to find Terry, because he’s giving rides. I don't remember a name, but I remember the action. They disappear into the crowd on the Quest for the Holy Taxi.

Kindness #3

Terry is going to spend his night making sure people get home safely.

Kindness #4

Terry is off at the moment, giving someone else a ride. I spot Betsy, “Will you give me a ride?” No questions asked, just, “I’ll see you out front.”

Kindness #5

The entire band comes over to see how I’m doing. Not well. To a person, they say, “Don’t worry about your gear, we’ve got you covered.

Kindness #6,

I sort of have a thousand-yard stare going on by now, so Marlece grabs my elbow and helps me navigate out to the parking lot. Now we’re all waiting for Betsy, and I’m safely in the parking lot, but Marlece won’t let go of me until I’m getting in Betsy’s car.

Kindness #7

Seth comes to the window of my door and knocks on it gently. I don’t know who he is, and to be fair, I hardly know who anybody is at this point. He’s on shift for emergency services that night and says, “Follow me to the firehall.”

Kindness #8

We have both a fire hall and emergency services.

Kindnesses that follow

I get checked out at the fire hall. I’m okay, not okay. I’m bullheaded, so they let me sign a piece of paper that says I don’t want to be flown off. Seth gives me a ride back to my car. The two people that I can think of to give me a ride home aren’t available, so I decide to drive myself. Seth offers to give me a ride, but now all I want to do is be home, and I belligerently decide to drive myself there. Seth doesn’t know that I know, but he follows behind me to make sure that a million things don’t happen to me. I get a series of texts from people wanting to know that I’m okay. I'm confident there were more like these that I can't remember

That is a lot of Kindness. Personal kindness. Where I live.

Things aren’t bleak at all. The time I spend in high anxiety is not pleasant, but I have a team of highly trained specialists, as well as friends, who are all contributing to my well-being. More kindness.

While I’m not at my best, at the same time, I’m almost embarrassed at how many people were looking out for me. But that’s the way it went. I wasn’t doing well, and all those people took over. I’m lucky. We’re lucky.

I’ll see you all around campus