This is the second in a new series of blogs written for our website by Humanity Project Founder, Bob Knotts, a playwright, poet and author of the book “Beyond Me: Dissecting Ego To Find The Innate Love At Humanity’s Core.” These blogs offer a more personal perspective on the goodness and inherent value of humanity, ideas that are the foundation of the Humanity Project’s work.
So often each of us could make some meaningful difference in the life of another human being — but we don’t act. Over the years I’ve come to believe one of the main obstacles to well-intended action is this: We don’t feel our effort will really do anything to help that person.
I also have come to believe that we’re usually wrong about this.
Think of your own everyday experiences. Have you ever been tired or discouraged, only to have some stranger look at you with a sincere smile that lifted your spirits? I have, many times. Have you ever felt a change in your attitude toward the world when someone stops to let your car into heavy traffic or gestures you to go ahead of them in the supermarket checkout line or picks up something you dropped? Again, I’ve been buoyed by these small kindnesses often. Or have you ever had someone give you something small but unexpected that didn’t seem so small at the time?
Let me tell you about a moment like this when I was in my early 20s, living as a broke young writer in Burlington, Vermont. In addition to writing, I’m also a lifelong musician. I’ll include here a photo of me with my first drum set. As you see, I was barely old enough to walk.
A very young (and very grainy) Bob Knotts, with first drum set
One impoverished Vermont day, I needed a new pair of drumsticks. Not an expensive item. Standing at the counter to pay at my local music store, I found to my great frustration that I was more than one dollar short of enough money for my sticks. A pretty woman standing behind me instantly offered to pay the difference.
I remember feeling an intense sense of gratitude and affection for this person as I looked at her. “No, that’s very kind of you, but there’s no need,” I said — or something like those words. But her reply came back quickly and gently: “No, it would be my pleasure.” My point here? I have never forgotten that woman, though I’m now nearly 67-years-old. Her generosity, her kindness, her sincere gesture to help a struggling musician, these things touched me more deeply than I knew at the time. I can only hope that somehow she’s reading this and also remembers that afternoon in Vermont.
More than 40 years later, I couldn’t tell you exactly what this stranger looked like. She will always be beautiful in my memory. I never knew her name … and it didn’t matter at all. But I have recalled many dozens of times this simple act of humanity. And her act in turn has inspired me to help others in similar ways whenever possible.
Small things aren’t always so small, are they? And sometimes a pair of new drumsticks is all that’s needed to restore our stronger faith in the goodness and inherent value of fellow human beings.
