A landscape of kindness

“Choose to be kind” proclaim the wooden signs stuck in the lawns of every other front yard in my town.I think about this a lot, about how performative “activism” (words, signs, t-shirts, bumperstickers) too often takes the place of real action, how they, in fact, excuse lack of action.I thought about kindness a lot when I walked the Camino. Or rather, I didn’t think about it as much as I felt immersed in it, as much as I felt I was part of this landscape of kindness. One very hot afternoon, my favorite walking companion (and sister-from-another-mother) Kiki and I were trudging into yet another tiny village, Hornillos de Camino, on what was probably a 26 or 27 kilometer day. We were sweaty, dehydrated and cranky. We ventured into a mercado the size of a walk-in closet, each bought an icy-cold Kaz Lemón, and hunkered down on a log outside the store, sitting in the blazing sun. A minute later, the owner of the store appeared with an apple in each hand. “Manzanas cultivar en un huerto local,” he said, smiling and handing us the fruit. Then he insisted we move into the shade on a bench near his little store. That’s it. That’s not a lawn sign. That’s the real deal.Another day, walking in the late morning with a soft-spoken Australian woman named Emily, we found ourselves winding down the steep cobblestone streets of a small village. I think it was Zuriain. It had been raining, misting really, and the stones were slick. We turned a corner and saw a small group gathered around a man sitting on the ground. When we got closer, we saw that his forehead was bleeding, and he had a gash across his nose. His left leg was outstretched, elevated on a pack. The ankle was wrapped. His toes were swollen and blue. He had slipped and fallen a few minutes before.Brian, a nurse from Colorado whom I had met and walked with briefly the day before, had wrapped the ankle. Others walked with first-aid kits. He walked with a medical kit. Another pilgrim whose phone had a Spanish sim card had called an ambulance. It would take a while to get here. A third was speaking to the man’s wife in the Netherlands. Emily and I stood there for a moment. Then she walked over to his side, kneeled and took his hand. Just held his hand.As I write this, I am reliving the moment. I am again part of this landscape of kindness: The rain starting in earnest; the small group gathered; the man, a stranger to all, in the center. And Emily, wordless, holding his hand.Just fall into that for a moment, my friends.