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<p id="b841">She laughed and thanked the young men as I walked on out of my driveway.</p><h1 id="b475">Arms Reach And Doors Open</h1><p id="599c">A red pickup truck pulled up to the postal drop-box as I walked past. Our local chiropractor, walking home from her office, waved at the driver and asked, “Can I put those in the slot for you?”</p><p id="7473">The driver thanked her as I crossed the street to the grocery store parking lot. In the parking lot, an elderly lady was getting her walker out of her vehicle. A store carry-out youth ran over to hold the door to the store open for her. They exchanged cheerful chatter.</p><h1 id="0f4e">Bends And Squats</h1><p id="3430">After entering the store, I grabbed a cart. Quickly making my way past the snickers, original potato chips, ding dongs, and twinkies, telling myself I don’t like those nasty chemical-laden foods. You can tell that by my lack of specific product identifiers, right?</p><p id="835a">Finding myself safely surrounded by oranges, lemons, and limes, I began lifting each box of blueberries. I wanted the best box of berries.</p><p id="451e">Noticing a lady was unable to reach the cucumbers, I made my selection. Before I could assist the woman, her handbag fell to the floor along with a bunch of celery, but a man bent down and retrieved the fallen items. His wife squatted down to retrieve car keys that had fallen from the woman's bag.</p><h1 id="13d3">Lines And Turns</h1><p id="b79c">After putting the blueberries in the cart, I passed the box cereal aisle and did not think about how long it had been since I had grape nuts, frosted flakes, or mini shredded wheat.</p><p id="0f22">The Oreos, crispy chocolate chip cookies, and peanut butter cookies didn’t catch my eye. Again, this is evidenced by the lack of product identifiers.</p><p id="5544">I found myself in line by the <b>chocolate ice cream</b> and assorted syrups. <i>I could get a box of i

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ce cream sandwiches or those mini drumsticks. Perhaps the orange push-ups. Yes, and one a day.</i></p><p id="97a2">I thought, <i>Ya, that always works. </i>The lady in line ahead of me told me to get in front of her. We chatted a bit.</p><p id="8a62">As my blueberries were being rung up, I thought about all the simple acts of kindness I’d witnessed on that quick trip to the store.</p><h1 id="54c8">Thoughts</h1><p id="355c">These weren't special people making enormous sacrifices. These were just ordinary people going about their business and being kind to others without giving it any thought.</p><p id="fb07">I imagine people everywhere in the world are doing the same. Going about their day weaving tiny acts of kindness into their busy life. If we could see these. See each of these, we could see those ordinary people are weaving peace with each simple act of kindness.</p><p id="5145">Thank you, <a href="undefined">Ali Hall</a>, for creating this publication for stories about kindness. This was a simple series of events told simply. Thank you, dear readers, for your gift of time reading.</p><p id="2dac"><i>This story was brought to you by Spread the Ripple. We are a publication dedicated to kindness. Kindness is our superpower. Read more stories and come and write with us here:</i></p><div id="44f1" class="link-block"> <a href="https://medium.com/spread-the-ripple"> <div> <div> <h2>Spread the Ripple</h2> <div><h3>We spread the ripple of kindness. This is the place for stories on kindness. Let kindness be your superpower.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*1x0obTrx8ydPgO6lthfHcw.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Hey From Your Writer Friend

I know you probably won’t read this.

Only about 1 in 5 of you will read what I write word-for-word. Yep, just 16%. (And that’s only if you follow me via social media.) I understand this. I get it.

Maybe I post too many links to my writing, maybe you don’t think I’m that great a writer or maybe my stuff just doesn’t appeal to you. That’s fine. But.

I see your posts. Pictures of your kids, your pets, your food, your grainy video from concerts you attend, shout-outs to your favorite sports team on a game well-played, your vacation check-ins and all the things you maybe post a little too often. Even if it’s not that great a photo or if your kids, your pets, your food don’t necessarily warrant minutes of my time.

I know that it is something you love or you are proud of and took moments out of your day to share it with us, your little online community. And as a friend/member of your tribe, I acknowledge that in you. I celebrate what makes you happy.

When I share a story or a poem or an essay that I have written, I do so because I am opening up a part of me that I want you to be a part of.

And, honestly, sometimes that is the hardest part of the writing. Letting you into my mind, opening up my chest and handing you my heart, being completely vulnerable. To your judgement, your scrutiny, to your indifference.

I have emptied myself onto the page in a way that I may never truly do aloud. No matter how drunk or depressed or lonely I may get.

This is not just a hobby. This is not just something I do on the side. Sure, I may tell you that because it is humbling to not be taken seriously. But. This is me.

Writers toil (struggle, grapple, pore) endlessly over word choice. We draft and scrap and edit and rewrite and cut again. Steal moments to jot down notes lest we instantly forget. We lose sleep just to find the time to write.

This is our passion. This is our lifeblood. Our sweat. Our tears. Our therapy.

Please don’t dismiss it. Don’t roll your eyes or shake your head. We don’t ask much.

You spend more than 4 hours a day on your phone. More than 10 hours a day looking at screens. My average post is maybe 5–10 minutes. So.

Next time you see something I have written. Pause before scrolling. Please. Take those few minutes I modestly ask of you.

Maybe you will learn something. Maybe you will learn something about me. Maybe you will learn something about yourself.

Or maybe it might make you happy to know that such a small acknowledgment by you, just a moment of your time, an ever so slight recognition of my hard work could mean so much to me.

Thank you.

Hey From Your Writer Friend

Pain: When the Heart Sinks

(This is not a story I usually share.)

Family | Medical | History

My belly still smells of the warm jelly from the ultrasound this morning.

Nonfiction by Ernio

a collection of creative nonfiction by Ernio Hernandez