Laurelmead
me and Talynda at Laurelmead after my speech
with my host Betsy from 2016
Providence, Rhode Island.
Last Tuesday was the first time I ever froze during a presentation.
I was speaking to members at a retirement community in Providence, RI, called Laurelmead. One of the members, Betsy, had hosted me on my trip the night after the 2016 election. She had since moved to Laurelmead and emailed asking if I might be interested in coming to talk at her new home.
The beautiful woman in the photo, Talynda, was a staff member there. She helped set up before my talk and mentioned she never got on the mic herself because she was too shy.
At the end of my talk a woman asked if I could share a story that was lighter than the ones I had been sharing. Just good, no sadness.
Which is when I froze.
Of all the stories I had collected I could not find one that was not connected to a bit of darkness. So I told her that. Each story came with sadness, which is why it stood out. Then, I pivoted, I shared what I found to be the most incredible thing of all on my trip. “I stayed in all types of homes, all types of political views, all types of religions. None of it mattered. Who they voted for, or what they believed in. Because they all had one thing in common.They wanted to help me find “More Good.” My mission was, as so many worded to me, “a breath of fresh air.”
And then the most beautiful thing happened. Talynda came up to the front and politely asked, “May I say something?”
I handed her the mic, surprised. “I just want to piggyback on what she said about good coming with bad.” She told them how she had been having a lot of hard days lately, “and that they,” her voice breaking and tears running down her cheeks, “were her more good.” And that “coming into work and being appreciated by them was the good she needed to keep going.”
I couldn’t believe her courage to do the one thing she told me she never did, but I imagined it was exactly what the group needed. If anything was taken away from the evening, I hope it was that moment. I hope the group remembers how much they mean to that woman. I hope they remember how much they still matter. Because we all do, really. The people in our life who want to tell us that might just be too scared to get on the mic.
West Springfield,
Massachusetts
Yesterday I texted my 23rd host from my road trip to fact check something as I wrote about our time together. Jessie lives in Massachusetts and is the manager of the Child Life Department at Baystate Children’s Hospital. She connected me to one of my absolute favorite little humans during my journey, Ben. Ben was the superhero who had his own toy drive to bring hundreds of toys back to the kids still stuck in the hospital after his own cancer treatment.
During our brief catch up via text she informed me that she recently got a grant for a dog to come to the hospital and help the kids meet their treatment goals. (Ie: children who are encouraged to get out of bed post-operatively love taking her for walks around the unit, or kids having blood draws or IV starts are comforted by her laying in bed with them and getting the relaxing sensory experience of petting her and distraction of interacting with her which minimizes the impact of the needle poke. She also provides support to hospital staff following challenging cases or difficult losses.)
In the midst of writing up a story the day before that left me in tears, I thought I’d share this with you today because seeing this photo of Isabela made me smile. It reminded me once again that despite the moments of incomprehensible sadness, we can still find ways to bring joy. Honored to have been hosted by someone so special who continues to do that each day in her line of work.
Homer, Alaska
The other day I was hiking back up the road from Diamond Creek Trail with my roommate, Liz. As we turned a corner two Aussiedoodles ran up to us barking. We looked up to their owner who informed us she had just seen a bear cub but had yet to see the mother. Liz and I exchanged glances. We started to keep walking, all three of us now, and I began asking the woman about herself. A few questions in I found out that her nephew had died by suicide years ago. And when he did, she packed her and her 11-year-old son up and started to travel. Ireland was their first stop. “Travel is fatal to prejudice,” she quoted Twain to me and Liz.
“Travel is the best thing to increase empathy,” I offered back as she nodded in agreement.
I found myself thinking about her the next day with my roommate, as we recounted some of the things she spoke about to us. What a beautiful message, I thought, as I imagined her packing up her grief, and her son, to move towards joy. To do something so brave in the wake of a tragedy. As we were about to part ways on the trail, I looked back at her and asked her for her name,
“Mary,” she replied.
Glastonbury, Connecticut
And at the very end of her email, after telling me about the devastating loss of her husband, she wrote:
“I really could have used a book like this while I was in the hospital.”
I spotted her immediately when I walked into the cafe. She was sitting on the couch, holding a
bag of apples. She held them up to me as I waved and made my way over. “I thought you could
use some healthy treats in the car,” she told me. “These are from our local orchard.”
It was one month since she had lost her husband. She had three young daughters at home to raise. She had written to me to share an act of kindness she received from a nurse during her time in the ICU. And here she was, offering her story, but thinking of me on my journey and providing me something healthy for the car.
It appeared that in my search for kindness, it was finding me first.
⁃ October 31, 2016 journal entry and the email I reread again this morning (and most mornings) as motivation to finish this book.