FAITH IN HUMANITY RESTORED
A Random Act of Kindness, An Inspirational Guide to Creativity, A Conjured Table, and Tips for Aging Well
If you enjoy this post, hit the ♥️ button, leave a comment, or restack. Those actions make me smile and help folks discover my work. Thank you!
Hiya Friends,
Hope you’re holding on and hanging in. I’m happy to report that this past week, I had my faith in humanity restored. I’ll tell you why.
As some of you know, last month I started volunteering for the The Friendship Line—a 24-hour phone line for anyone (over the age of 18) feeling lonely, distressed, or in need of a friendly ear. I won’t lie, this gig is tough. The phone rings non-stop. Some folks want to chit chat, but many callers are in semi-crisis-mode due to financial insecurity, loneliness, trauma, grief, illness, or mental health struggles. What they seek is an active listener on the line—someone free from judgement to pay attention and offer a kind word. So that’s what I try to do. My shifts last three hours and afterwards, I need to lie down and snort lavender oil.
Alas, I don’t really drink booze anymore because alcohol makes me sweaty and disrupts my sleep. Instead, I self-soothe by binging feel-good TV shows like “Love On The Spectrum”. If you’re not watching this show, you’re missing out on heart-bursting reality television about people on the autism spectrum looking for love. Abbey and David met on Season 1 and they’re still an item in Season 3. For their anniversary, Abbey wrote and performed an original song for David, which you can watch in the clip below. If her song doesn’t make you a tiny bit misty-eyed, you might be dead inside.
On The Friendship Line, I make a point to sound upbeat. I figure that’s the minimum job requirement. I get the sense, however, that not every operator takes this tack. Several callers have reacted to my greeting with surprise, saying things like “you sound nice!” or “thank you for having such a friendly voice.” One guy said, “Do you have a doctorate? You seem very smart.” Another caller wanted to get my thoughts about her recent job interview. I told her it was testament to her skillset that she’d landed multiple interviews and a great sign that her potential employer wanted her to meet with the whole team. I wasn’t blowing smoke. Jobs are scarce. It’s a employer’s market. A friend told me her company received 900 resumes for an open position. 900! At the end of my conversation with this particular caller, she said, “You’re a nice person and you’re putting good out into world. It’s going to come back to you.”
I thought about that caller a few days later when I was on the receiving end of a random act of kindness. Let me back up a bit. The weekend before, I went to The Huntington —130 acres of gorgeous gardens, galleries, a Gilded Age mansion, and more. My friend and I checked out the phenomenal Don Barchardy exhibit, sniffed the roses, and, at the gift shop, I picked up a copy of the book “Steal Like an Artist: 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative” by the best-selling author and fellow Substacker,
.I enjoy Kleon’s newsletter and I’d been curious about his book—a bite-sized artist’s guide packed with encouragement and advice about the creative process. It’s a fun and inspiring read, especially if you’re feeling stuck. In one section titled, “Step Away From The Screen,” Kleon strongly urges creative types to set up a second desk for analog projects. Talk about a #EurekaMoment. I practically shouted, YES! THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I NEED. My work desk is a cluttered mess and I’ve had to store my art supplies on the floor.
The next morning, I woke up and thought, today I’m going to find a free desk that I can use for art projects. I’m not a chronic manifester or anything like that, it’s just that people throw out perfectly good stuff all the time. Case in point, I offered to give away some brand new dog treats in my local Buy Nothing group because the treats upset Noodle’s stomach. The person who’d requested said dog treats asked if I’d drop them off at her place. I’ll admit, I bristled a bit at the suggestion. The beauty of the Buy Nothing group is that I leave my cast-offs on the porch and a neighbor comes along and carts it all away. That way I don’t feel bad about killing the planet. Nevertheless, I looked up the dog treat recipient’s address. Since she lived pretty close by, I agreed (begrudgingly) to deliver the goods. She wrote back, “Thank you! Sadly, I can’t greet you because I’ll be asleep. I’m an oncology nurse and I work nights.” Why, yes, I did feel like a complete jerkface. This woman is literally saving lives and I was grumbling about taking a fifteen minute walk to deliver some treats to her dog. Color me sufficiently shamed.
Of course the walk to her place proved to be a glorious journey replete with wild flowers in bloom, funky street art, and this hilarious bumper sticker.
Now, at this point in my rambling tale, you might be thinking “I bet Hilary stumbled upon the perfect desk on this jaunt!” Nope. Total red herring. Sorry. It wasn’t until a few hours later that I saw a “Curb Alert” post in the Buy Nothing group. A “Curb Alert” means that someone has left a bunch of junk out on the sidewalk and it’s up for grabs. In the photo that accompanied the post, I spotted the perfect art desk. I hopped in the car and drove over.
There she stood—a filthy white wooden desk with a broken drawer and very long legs, ergo, my future analog desk. I hauled the desk to my car (thank goodness I’ve been lifting weights.) If you think the story ends here, just you wait. I’m finally getting to the good part. As you might imagine, I was pretty impressed with myself for conjuring this desk into existence. Clearly I had magical powers I didn’t even know about. It was with this air of inflated confidence that I attempted to Tetris this desk into the backseat of our Honda Accord. I turned it upside down. I wrestled with it at every angle. I stood there covered in dirt, dust, and white grime, wracking my brain.
A middle-aged woman walked past and flashed me a sympathetic smile. “I’d help you, but I have the dog,” she said and pointed at the little fluff ball in her shoulder bag. I told her not to worry, I’d figure it out. Truthfully, I knew there was no effing way this table would ever fit in our car. I couldn’t call Jared to help because we share the Honda. I would’ve had to pick him up and bring him back, and by then surely someone else would’ve made off with my desk. I was about to give up and accept the limits of my manifesting powers, when suddenly, a strapping young man in a red beanie appeared at my side brandishing a wrench like some kind of hipster Thor. “I’m going through the same thing with a table over there,” he said and nodded at his car, “but I think I can help you.”
Around 6'2 with big blue eyes, brown hair and a remarkably chiseled jawbone, this sweet young man named Jack proceeded to unscrew and remove the desk legs with the wrench. I found out that Jack is a handyman and also restores old furniture. What luck! “If you soak these screws in WD40, the rust will come right off,” he said, offering me a pro tip for FREE. I thanked him profusely for his help and told him that I planned to use this desk for art projects. We talked about our various artistic pursuits and he mentioned that he’s also an actor (of course!) and dabbles in production design. “So you’re literally a Jack of all trades,” I said.
“My mom told me that’s what I should call my business, but it was already taken,” he said.
Here’s where it gets a bit woo. Jack doesn’t live in my neighborhood. He’s not a member of the Buy Nothing group. He saw a Craig’s List post and raced over from the valley (20 minutes away) to try to nab the coffee table. The fact that we arrived at the same time qualifies as a cosmic event as far as I’m concerned. I told Jack that I’d definitely hire him as a handyman. He didn’t have any business cards on him, but he gave me his number and said if I text him, he’ll send me his website. I got in the car and thought, wait a second, I should give this dear young man some money. I ran over and insisted he accept $20. When I left him, he was still trying to cram that coffee table into his backseat.
I’ll tell ya, readers, following this interaction, I was high on life and the decency of strangers. So high in fact, I decided to brave the Trader Joe’s parking lot where, miraculously, I had no trouble finding a spot. On my way home, I passed Jack driving down the street with the coffee table strapped to the roof of his car. I texted him later to thank him again and he texted back:
Isn’t Jack the best? Fingers crossed all his dreams come true. He certainly deserves it.
AGING IS A PRIVILEGE NOT A DISEASE
Did you know that the WHO—the World Health Organization—tried to classify old age as a disease? For real. Allegedly, the brain trust at WHO theorized that if “old age” qualified as a disease, it would warrant research and drug development to “treat” it. You read that right. I’m sure the pharmaceutical companies were rubbing their greedy mitts together, ready to cash in on a Ponce de León pill to keep us all frozen in time. Thankfully, a bunch of doctors and organizations including Dr. Kiran Rabheru, a professor of psychiatry at the University of Ottawa and a geriatric psychiatrist, wrote letters and asked the WHO to reconsider.
collectively we represented millions of people across the world. Our team and the people that I work with immediately thought: Aging is a privilege. That’s not the disease.
You can listen to the podcast episode or read the transcript via this gift link for The Atlantic to find out what happened after Rabheru and his cohorts contacted the WHO.
TIPS FOR AGING WELL
THE RULE OF 20
The podcast episode mentioned above with Dr. Rabheru is worth a listen, not just to hear how he helped combat a potentially catastrophic and agist decision by the WHO. The doctor also offers up his tips for aging well that he calls the “Rule of 20”. I’m cutting and pasting it here for easy access:
I need you to give at least 20 smiles a day. Because as soon as you’re smiling, it changes the way your brain works. Second is to do 20 minutes of activity of some sort; and I usually say walking, because physical activity is really important for health, right? But try and get 20 minutes of walking. And thirdly: Socialize for 20 minutes a day. And not just with the person you’re living with; that’s fine too, but try and do something outside of yourself. So, those are three basic things you can do, and then all the treatment I give you will be much more effective.”
In other news, a recent aging study busts the myth that longevity is genetic. Woo hoo!
That genes don’t necessarily determine healthy aging is “liberating,” and suggests that “we can pretty much all do better” to delay disease, said Dr. Eric Topol, a cardiologist and the founder of the Scripps Research Translational Institute, which ran the Wellderly study.
According to Dr. Topol, one of the best ways to stay healthy as we age is by strength training (I think lifting a desk counts!), cultivating good sleep habits, managing stress, and using “tests and trackers” sparingly. Here’s a gift link to read the full article via New York Times here.
R.I.P., Jill Sobule 💔
I can’t remember how I first discovered Jill Sobule though most likely through a college radio station. I bought her first record in 1990 before her breakout single, “I Kissed A Girl” climbed the charts. I loved her voice, her witty lyrics, her fearless spirit, and the fact that most of her songs were story songs. I’m a sucker for story songs. As you may have read, she died tragically in a house fire on May 2nd.
Her songs take me back to a time, post college, when I moved to the Inner Sunset neighborhood of San Francisco and lived with a couple of friends. Drafty AF, our second-story flat in a Victorian building had a large living room with decorative built-ins and several bay windows. On a clear day, of which there were few, we had a partially obstructed view of Golden Gate Park’s cluster of cypress trees and bright green grass. Our landlord was a salty Irish guy who couldn’t seem to fix our temperamental water heater. My downstairs neighbor, a skinny improv comic in wire-rimmed glasses named Barry made up a song about the fluctuating water temp that I still remember to this day: “First you’re freezing. Then you’re frying. It’s the ghost of Seamus O’Brian.”
We had a roommate for a spell named Lisa—a soft-spoken, accident-prone pathologist. It always struck me as odd that someone so clumsy handled scalpels and dangerous chemicals all day. One night Lisa came home from the lab wearing an eye patch after a formaldehyde mishap. Another time, she returned with her forearm wrapped in a bandage and said she didn’t want to talk about it.
We had a lot of fun in that apartment, threw tons of parties, watched Melrose Place, and on the rare occasion that I had the place to myself, I sat in the living room, staring out at the foggy gloom, and listened to the clever song stylings of Jill Sobule.
I’d planned to share one of her older songs, but this newer one feels appropriate for the theme of this newsletter. Sobule wrote this in response to an online troll. Apparently, after she posted the song, the troll gave her a thumb’s up and they started a friendly correspondence.
That’s a wrap for today. If you’ve experienced a random act of kindness lately, please share it in the comments. I’m desperate for good news!
Ohh! .. I needed those laughs soo .. Thank you Hilary!
I am constantly amazed by the things people leave at the curb. Also constantly fighting the urge to take nice things from the curb that I don't need.