CivicActions

It's been a very rich Thanksgiving for me - I've been shown a lot to be grateful for in the last few days. There's been a lot of sadness and/or strife in the lives of a lot of people I love in the last couple of weeks (including me) - it seems like there's been some kind of huge karmic crunch happening and in the loss and trouble, I find myself being reminded how much I have to be thankful for.

I visited my family in Kansas this weekend. They were all (that is, the 5 or 6 siblings who were home - I'm 3rd oldest of 11 (or is it 12?) brothers and sisters) interested in what I'm up to these days.

I told them I'm on the verge of accepting CivicAction's offer of partnership in the company, which I count as an honor as much as an opportunity. This company is filled with a lot of brilliant, amazing people who have a lot of heart and passion and commitment. I'm grateful for that.

It takes almost a whole day just to get caught up on the rights of passage and the attendant family dramas of 20-some parents, kids and grandkids. And playing with (and meeting some recently born) nieces and nephews ruled. I love kids. And for now, I love that I get to go home without 'em.

I got to spend some quality time with my Mom, which is always a moving, deep experience for me either during or after. Very grateful for her and her offspring and their offspring, too.

But this wasn't really what inspired me to post. It was an experience I had earlier tonight on the way home from the airport and the insight I had as a result.

I'd briefly stopped by to tuck in my girlfriend (who'd had one of the above-mentioned intense weeks herself) and was leaving her place when a street-woman came noisily around the corner pushing (and then eventually trying to hang on to) a grocery cart loaded with a giant, bulging bag of cans and bottles, piled probably 8' in the air.

At first glance it looked like a small sail, and as it passed me, it was more like a bag Santa would have for naughty kids, I guess. ("Here's your crushed and beer-soaked plastic 2 litre bottle, Bobby, you've not been nice this year!")

I noticed her enough through the night's streetlights to know that she was of African descent. The woman (who was in no way elfish, other than her wiry frame) wore layers of clothes and had on yellow rubber gloves on very dark skin and a headwrap that seemed barely in place.

We sort of acknowledged each other, though I was reluctant to look her in the eye for long for fear of the ever-familiar "Ask," which frequently forces me render immediate judgment on someone as to whether or not I think they're going to use my hard-earned money to buy drugs.

But the request never came.

She just looked at me and kept pushing her cart towards some (hopefully close) destination.

That cart seemed like it was overflowing, but nothing broke or was left behind as she hopped and hobbled behind it, almost careening down the hill. It was a wonder that it hadn't gotten completely away from her or toppled over for all her stomping and skidding down the fog-slicked street.

I was shocked and awed by the amount of work she must've done to collect all those bottles and cans. I was simultaneously struck with gratitude for not being in such a position in life myself, and angered and saddened that people live in such desperate condition in a place as rich as San Francisco (where it now costs $4.09 a gallon for gas.)

ANYWAY...

I watched her wrangle that cart down Golden Gate street towards the Filmore and fished out one of the $10 bills I had in my pocket as I got in my car. I slowed down behind her and drove up along side that clattery, and by now lumbering, ship of the night to hand it to her.

She reached out her hand and as she did, I noticed that all her clothes matched, and that her headwrap was actually tight, in an African or Caribbean style. She looked like she'd been doing housework for the 50-plus years of her life, and for all appearances, she might've been a housewife, were she not pushing a cart full of cans down the middle of the street at 11 o'clock at night.

As she recognized that it was a $10 bill, she got totally excited and said in a distinctly African accent, "Thank you sweetie, thank you so much!" I knew that made a difference for her tonight and perhaps of her experience of Thanksgiving, in general. Certainly, she was genuinely grateful to have been handed a $10 bill out of nowhere, as I suppose I would have been were we in each other's shoes.

Earlier today as my Mom drove me to the airport, I'd tried to SMS condolence and comfort to my girlfriend with "a thought - consider what you're grateful for today" In a way, I wanted her to generate gratitude and thanksgiving and I realized tonight that's exactly what I'd done for this woman eeking a living on the misty streets of San Francisco.

At some point in 2000 or so, I started the Generate Kindness website, and had a bumper sticker on my car - the idea being that kindness doesn't just "happen." And while what I had done tonight was technically an act of kindness, it also occurred to me that I'd also just generated gratitude and thanksgiving.

Not only did it feel good, but was also a poignant reminder of our intrinsic connection to -slash- BEING the source(s) of kindness, gratitude, peace and compassion in the world.