Am I Kind?

What happens
to the leaves after
they turn red and golden and fall
away? What happens

to the singing birds
when they can't sing
any longer? What happens
to their quick wings?... ~ Mary Oliver, "Roses, Late Summer"

Sunday morning, September 6, 2026, 9:51am: I began the morning considering what I might write about next, and the thought occurred to me: I don't feel as though I have anything else left to write about. A few days ago, I remember sitting in the corner at my place of employment, feeling as though I had nothing left to contribute. I turned to my left and observed my coworkers conversing quietly amongst themselves. The muted voices spoke about relationships, weekend plans, favorite bands, etc... I was content to be on the outside looking in.

I held within me no great reason to be sorrowful, but a sorrow was present. Perhaps "sorrow" isn't quite the right term. I felt a weariness... and a resignation to that weariness. The sensation almost felt akin to contentment. This was a sorrow of being spent... of seeing a younger generation having an appetite for life and recognizing that the appetite they possessed had departed from my life.

I feel a bit silly now providing commentary on a soul content to "be" more so than one intent on exerting an effort into contributing in some meaningful way.

I went on a hike with a friend of mine about a week ago. An overnight to a spot near the base of Mount Shuksan in the North Cascades. If any one thing demonstrates the simplicity of "being", I suppose it might be Mount Shuksan. Standing in her shadow on Saturday morning, I could not help but be still in quiet reverence at the sight of the monolith of undeniable presence. For whatever reason, that presence provided comfort in a world... in a life mired with doubt and uncertainty.

I'd been feeling small as of late... diminished. Where once I held a desire to be seen and heard, on this particular morning I felt a compulsion to shrink and become reclusive. Considering my encounter with the mountain, I felt it bade me listen rather than speak, and so I silenced myself and listened.

All I ever wanted was to know what to do. ~ Dave Eggers, You Shall Know Our Velocity!

Continuing with the idea of simply "being", I feel as though there is no mountain in the world that is better at "being" Mount Shuksan than Mount Shuksan.

The profile and characteristics are instantly recognizable. By sharp contrast, I'm not too sure the same can be said of myself. Throughout my life, I feel as though I became whatever others expected of me. In the wake of Molly leaving for college, I felt compelled to "do" something different. I felt a pressure to do so, but I found that I had no great desire to do anything divergent to what I was currently doing.

I felt more compelled to "be" rather than "do". I recalled the following quote from The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse:

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“Kind,” said the boy.

—Charlie Mackesy, The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse

Am I a kind person? I found myself sitting with this question in quiet, self-reflective silence. The reflexive instinct was to answer in the affirmative, but something within me bade me pause... and my mind drifted...

In the few short months after Molly's departure to college, I became a runner. I run consistently, and the experience of running has become my "drug" of choice. More than just for the physical boon, I feel as though there is a mental benefit to the running that I enjoy and miss when I am unable to run.

I became an avid writer these past two years. I find myself writing constantly. The act of writing has become my creative outlet. When I feel grief, humiliation, frustration, pain, or any of a myriad of emotions; I write. I sit with the emotion as if it were a visiting companion, listen to what it is here to teach me, and I write.

So, on the notion of "being", in the span of a couple of years, I have become a runner and a writer... of these I feel I can be certain... but am I kind? I went to bed pondering the question.

Thursday morning, September 10, 2026, 6:43am: I walked from my car to my place of employment still considering the question, "Am I kind?" After a brief few moments, the reply came to me. "No", I quietly confessed to myself as I walked; a well of tears forming in my eyes at the admission. There is one person in particular that I had ignored, and in fact admonished for speaking up for years. I had turned a deaf ear to him so many times that he now sat alone in the corner of a bare room refusing to speak. That person — a small, defenseless child in my mind's eye — was myself.

I had abandoned him. I had trusted everyone else, anyone else to guide me… to tell me what to do and where to go. I remember him rebuking what didn’t feel right hundreds of times, and I repeatedly told him, “It would be fine.” “We’d be okay.” “You’re overreacting.” But after years of this, we weren’t fine. Neglecting this child had left me alone, doing things I had no great interest in doing, in a place I had no real connection to anymore.

I felt adrift and alone… directionless, with no land in sight. There had been a reason for my presence here, but the reason was gone now and I needed new bearings. Searching the four corners and finding nothing, I noticed the little child crouched silently in the corner of my boat. He had been with me for this entire journey, and I had largely ignored him for years. Now all we had was each other and so I sat down beside him, curled myself up in a ball like he was and joined in his silence, hoping he might forgive me and speak to me as he once did...

I feel as though the running was his idea. He does enjoy the running. The writing too brings about an enthusiasm that nourishes the two of us. On the question of being kind, perhaps the more accurate response would be to confess that I'm trying to be a kinder person day-by-day. I am not yet where I'd like to be, but I'm attempting to be more attentive to the people — to the person — I have neglected.

To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Works Sited:
Mary Oliver, "Roses, Late Summer," House of Light (1990)

Eggers, Dave. You Shall Know Our Velocity!. Vintage Books, 2003.

Image: Still from Captain Fantastic (2016), directed by Matt Ross. © 2016 Captain Fantastic Productions LLC. Image used for purposes of commentary and identification of the Mount Shuksan location depicted in the film.

Mackesy, Charlie. The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse. HarperOne, 2019.