A Bit of Kindness

"Did you see how beautiful his eyes are?"

 My cousin and I had just sat down at a Turkish restaurant in midtown on Memorial Day. Our server had just taken our drink order—a gentle young man, perhaps in his late twenties, who moved through the restaurant with quiet grace. Slender, of moderate height, with long brown hair and fair skin, but it was his eyes that captivated me. Almond-shaped with long lashes framing honey-brown irises, they were strikingly beautiful. I immediately wanted to compliment him but held back, uncertain. 

"Really? Now I want to see." 

"I wanted to say something but don't want to embarrass him." 

When he returned, I couldn't help myself. "You have the most beautiful eyes."

He smiled, a bit shy from being seen, and replied in his strong Turkish accent, "I hear this much in Turkey but not so much here."

 "That's because Americans are assholes," I said with a grin. 

He shrugged and laughed softly. "Thank you, thank you very much for saying so." 

Something in the way he said it felt like that moment had reminded him of home—of being around people who could truly see him, in a community that embraced him.

I've been thinking about that encounter ever since. It seemed as though I had reminded him that what made him beautiful in Turkey still exists here, that what makes him remarkable there is still admired here. Not every thought needs to be given voice—many should never become sound—but there are moments when our heart says "speak," and we should listen. 

"Before you speak, let your words pass through three gates; 

At the first gate, ask yourself, 'Is it true?'

At the second gate ask, 'Is it necessary?'

At the third gate ask, 'Is it kind?'"

~ Rumi

That moment reminded me of the power of speech—how words can be wielded like a knife to produce pain or like a feather to inspire laughter. Was it true he had beautiful eyes? Yes. Was it necessary? This we could debate, but the answer came from being fully present in the moment. Looking at this soft-spoken man serving in a beautiful little restaurant in one of the world's biggest cities, my heart said yes. Was it kind? Absolutely. The result? Those words lifted him in a way that also lifted my spirit. Throughout the rest of our meal, he would glance over at our table with a sweet, grateful expression—a look that seemed to carry both longing and appreciation, as if he was savoring that moment of being truly seen. My gratitude for life expanded simply from acknowledging the beauty in another person.

I hope you too find moments where words can help another person feel seen. This kind of simple connection with a stranger creates a feeling like no other.