COVID-19 has increased our physical distance and I fear it has only served to increase our emotional distance as well. That barrier dehumanizes the intended target and makes it safe somehow to project rage. Behind the wheel on the highway, people spout obscenities, honk the horn and flip the bird without a second thought as to who’s on the receiving end. I’ve read things that I’m certain no one would say in a face-to-face conversation. Perhaps even a human that agrees with their particular stance. I think people forget when they type out a letter in an online form or even send a business email that they are indeed initiating a conversation with another human being. It’s difficult to maintain an us-versus-them attitude when I have the opportunity to witness a melting pot of humanity right here in my inbox. I say this is a perk because I do not exist in an echo chamber or some sort of political vacuum.īecause of this, I read kindness from all sides and perspectives. I receive direct responses to what I’ve written as well as letters to the editor about issues of the day and op-eds from the community at large. One of the perks of being a columnist and working as an opinion editor is the email I get. I’m not perfect and of course I have my snarky moments, but I’ve also worked to become more aware of those moments and dig in to determine where that reaction comes from and hopefully adjust my attitude for better future reactions. I want to explore how I can intentionally help kindness grow. It’s no longer enough to just focus on my own actions. This year, kindness is what overwhelmingly comes to mind. I like to reflect on the year that’s passed, determine what went well and what didn’t and decide what to work on for 2022. I may not celebrate at the stroke of midnight any longer, and I do not make any resolutions, but I do set intentions. Staying up until midnight had lost its novelty. I was 25 years old and pregnant with my daughter. I declared that’s where I’d be for the year 2000. As a teen, I would dream of being among the crowd in New York City when the ball dropped. Those were the modest homemade noisemakers of our small Kentucky town. On New Year’s Eve, when I was a kid, at the stroke of midnight we would run outside and bang pots and pans with a wooden spoon to ring in the new year.
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