Convenient kindness.

Loss has a way of holding up a mirror. My reflection jump-scared me in the quiet news of a neighbour’s passing, and it left me thinking about how I show up in the world and how often I don’t.

(This isn’t a eulogy, and it isn’t meant to be self-centred. It’s just me trying to make sense of a feeling I didn’t expect.)

He was elderly and had been unwell for quite some time. I heard he was one of the few who had been here since the 80s — a real OG resident.

He was sweet and friendly. We exchanged greetings and a few polite words, but that was the extent of most of our interactions.

I remember when he first became unwell. He had a stroke and ended up using a mobility scooter. His day-to-day life had drastically changed.

I saw carers come and go, and the two neighbours on either side would pop in from time to time to see him. But I didn’t.

I’d only speak to him if I ran into him on my way in or out of the house. I’d offer assistance and tell him to knock if he needed anything, just passing words of care. Let’s be honest, I could have gone to see him at any time.

I feel like we are all so busy in our lives that it gets hard to really help… or is it that we just don’t care enough unless it’s convenient?

Busy with work, family, extracurricular activities, all the things we tell ourselves matter… but never too busy to doom-scroll or binge the show everyone’s talking about.

Maybe it’s just me. I don’t know.

But I’ve been thinking about it all day. Are my acts of kindness just convenience-motivated? Do I make excuses for myself … I’m busy with work, family, extracurriculars, all the things we tell ourselves matter? I’m guilty of it anyway. I’m never too busy to doom-scroll or binge the show everyone’s talking about.

I give charity from the safety of my own home, or to a charity worker collecting donations at the shopping centre — convenient.

Help someone carry their bags, pay for someone who’s short of cash at the till… that sort of kindness — convenient. It’s all neatly wrapped, right there in front of me, easy to access. Convenient acts of kindness.

I think I’ve been giving myself far too much credit for believing I was a decent enough human being. I feel self-righteous even writing this. Am I making his death all about me? I don’t mean to. I’m just trying to express something I don’t quite have the words for.

Am I alone in this?

I haven’t been kind this whole time… I’ve just been ordering kindness to my door. I’ve been participating in convenient acts of kindness.