Kindness should be born of kindness. Being kind, showing care, compassion, love, should produce more of the same. And I'm sure it does to some extent.
Anyone can do kind things. I can't think of anyone that hasn't done at least one kind thing in their lifetime. But to be kind, to take the concept into yourself and choose to make it a part of who you are, that's different. I seek to be kind, and if my loved ones are to be believed, I am a kind person.
Kindness should be born of kindness, but kind people are born of cruelty, suffering, pain, anguish, depression, anxiety, stress, and pretty much every other bad thing. Some of us caused those horrible things in our past, I know I did. I was a hateful person; I caused cruelty, suffering, pain, and anguish. But that did not make me kind, it rarely does.
What made me kind was a combination of experiencing those things, and watching others experience them alongside me. I can think of a few very low points in my life, and each one was marked first with pain and suffering, but then with kindness.
I remember, after making a lot of bad decisions, I was working a low-wage job just trying to get by, living on my own for the first time, and I didn't budget well, neither my money nor my time. I went to work one day with no lunch, and no money to buy one. It was an 8 hour shift, I could have been just fine, but that wasn't good enough for my coworker. He handed me what cash he had, and took over while I went to buy myself lunch, just a couple burgers from a nearby gas station. After that, I understood that being hungry wasn't a moral failing, and that being kind to the hungry was not enabling them like I'd been taught in school.
I remember during US Army Infantry OSUT, a lot of low points. Two specifically come to mind. One day, I couldn't process conflicting orders, and part of that was because one set of orders came from NCOs with actual authority, and the other set came from the small group of bullies in my platoon that decided they could just force other people to do what they wanted, and my brain couldn't parse the difference between authority and power. So it broke. I had never experienced a panic or anxiety attack up to that point, but I had read about them, and realized, to some extent, that that's what I was experiencing. And I knew that I should just focus on one task at a time, to try to reorder my mind.
The task I chose to focus on was changing my footwear. We were allowed to change out of our boots into our running shoes in the evenings, so that's what I decided to do. But I could also tell I was about to cry, and if there's one thing you don't want to do where bullies can see you, it's cry. So I planned to go into the latrine and just sit on one of the toilets in a stall, change my shoes there, so no one could see me. So I get up, and go around towards the latrine. All the stalls were filled, so I just went into the supply closet and locked the door.
What my fellow trainees saw was someone who was clearly not mentally well in the moment, one of their own, taking shoe laces to an enclosed space and locking himself in there. They panicked. They began pounding on the door, and I had no idea why. Eventually, I could tell the voice of one of them, one that had been kind to me, and let him in. I was completely broken at that moment, the pounding on the door broke my concentration on the task, and I couldn't control my emotions. I was bawling. He sat with me, peeked out to tell the other guys he had it under control and to quiet down, and stayed with me until I could process things again.
The other low point from OSUT was during my final physical fitness test. I hate running, always have. Running two miles sucked ass. And I failed the two mile run over and over up until then, and this was my last chance. If I failed this test, I was going to be removed from service. About a quarter mile from the finish, a red pickup truck had been parked, and it pulled out and drove beside me. My Senior Drill Sergeant, driving his own truck, began shouting at me that I could do this, that I worked too hard to give up, and that gave me just enough motivation to sprint the last hundred yards or so. I passed with mere seconds to spare. That may not sound like kindness to you, but it was to me.
And I can remember low points when no one was there to be kind, or maybe someone was there but they weren't kind. I remember the time a group of people I had considered friends referred to loving me as an obligation, and laughed. Either no one saw my pain, or no one who did cared. I remember both being the bullied kid no one acknowledged, and being one of the people who saw the bullied kid and chose not to acknowledge them. I remember seeking help in school because another student had threatened my life repeatedly, only to be told that I needed to just ignore him.
Eventually, when you see enough cruelty and suffering, you have to make a choice. You can choose to see it and do nothing; I think that's what most people do. I know that's what I did for a good while. You can choose to just not see it, to choose ignorance; I'm pretty sure I did that too, I might still do it. Or you can choose to see it and decide that, as long as you can change it, no one will have to face cruelty and suffering with no one there to show them kindness; if you choose that, your life will definitely get worse. You will see more and more suffering as time goes on, and eventually will be faced with situations where "as long as you can change it" becomes a lot more of a problem than you might think. But there will be times when you can change it; there will be times where your kindness can change a life. And if that only happens once, even with all the extra suffering you will see and endure, maybe that's still worth it.
I used to wonder what I wanted my life to be after I'm gone, what kind of legacy I would want to leave. I already know that I won't be remembered for long; that's not sad to me, that's just the reality of not being famous. Most people are remembered for a few generations max. I don't want a permanent reminder of my existence, no headstone, no memorial plaque in a park somewhere, nothing like that. I'll be gone, if you want a place to go to talk to me, plant a tree; it'll probably last longer than the memory of me.
But what do I really want to leave behind? I want the world to be better for having had me in it, as opposed to not having me at all. I have a lot to make up for; those years of hate spread toxicity in the world that I can never truly clean up, but maybe I can do more good than the bad I did. And in my estimation, even small acts of love, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, etc. make the world better. So I seek to be kind, in all that I do. I fail a lot, but I fail less now than I used to, and given enough time, I might actually become the kind person my loved ones tell me I am. Maybe.