Kindness, It’s Free: The Healing Power of Being Seen
Feeling a Connection to a Stranger, Even if for a Brief Moment
Last week, I traveled from my home in a “blue” state to a place often labeled a “red” state. Before I left, I felt a subtle but persistent unease. The stories we hear about division had taken root in me — whispers that I might not belong and should brace myself.
But then something simple happened.
When I got to my seat on the airplane, the person next to me smiled as I sat down. The flight attendant cracked a quiet joke that made the row laugh. Later, a stranger helped me lift my bag into the overhead compartment, and someone else held open a door for me. Each small moment chipped away at that quiet fear.
Every interaction was kind. Thoughtful. Human.
In those exchanges, I could feel my nervous system shift, my shoulders lowering, my breath slowing, and the edges of vigilance softening. That’s what kindness does. It sends a message to the body: You are safe here.
Our nervous systems speak a universal language. Long before words, humans learned to read faces, tones, gestures, and signs that someone was friend or foe. A smile, a nod, a softening in the eyes: these cues tell our bodies we can relax. The ventral vagal system, the part of our nervous system that regulates connection and safety, activates, slowing our heart rate and grounding us back in the moment.
It’s remarkable, really. A fleeting interaction, a stranger’s warmth, can calm the body and remind us that we are not alone. And it works both ways. When we offer kindness, our system shifts too — our heart rate synchronizes with the person we’re helping, our oxytocin rises, and we leave the moment more connected than when we entered it.
Fear and anger keep us divided.
Kindness, compassion, and empathy bring us back together.
On the Ride Back Home
On the drive home from the airport, I noticed something else — a different kind of human behavior. I watched traffic back up because drivers refused to let one another merge. Each person was clinging to a few extra feet of space, eyes fixed straight ahead, pretending not to see the car beside them, trying to enter the lane.
It struck me how easily disconnection shows up, not just in ideology or politics but in the smallest, most ordinary moments: the refusal to yield, the unwillingness to make eye contact, the choice not to see someone else’s need.
That’s how isolation spreads: one closed gesture at a time.
And that’s also how we heal it, one act of kindness at a time.
When we meet another person’s gaze, wave them in, or pause long enough to acknowledge someone else’s humanity, we interrupt the pattern. We remind each other that we share the same road, the same air, the same fragile hope that we’ll be treated with care.
Living It Out
Kindness doesn’t have to be grand or performative. It lives in small, daily gestures that remind others, and ourselves, that we belong to one another.
Here are a few ways to practice:
Meet eyes, not screens. Look up at the grocery store clerk or barista. A moment of genuine eye contact can be grounding for you both.
Greet your neighbors. Say hello in the hallway, on the trail, or at the mailbox. Community starts with acknowledgment.
Be generous with appreciation. Thank the person who cleans your workspace or serves your meal. Tell people when you notice their effort.
Listen without rushing to fix. Sometimes kindness is simply presence, allowing someone to be heard without trying to make their pain go away.
Slow down. Move through your day with enough spaciousness to notice others. Busyness numbs empathy; presence awakens it.
Assume goodness. When you feel tension or difference, start from the belief that most people want to connect, not harm.
Each of these small acts quiets fear, both yours and someone else’s. They are the threads that weave belonging.
And kindness doesn’t mean looking away from suffering. Genuine compassion asks us to see — especially when it’s uncomfortable. It means not turning a blind eye to what’s happening to community members, particularly those whose identities or lived experiences differ from our own. It means standing beside someone when their safety or dignity is threatened, listening when their story challenges ours, and recognizing that connection is not passive, it’s courageous.
When we extend kindness across lines of difference, we expand the circle of “us.”
Kindness is free, but it’s not trivial. It’s medicine for our over-activated nervous systems, an antidote to isolation, and a radical affirmation of shared humanity.
When we slow down enough to see and be seen, even briefly, we help the world remember itself.
When was the last time a stranger’s kindness shifted your day or your body? What’s one small gesture you can offer this week to help someone else feel seen?
