By Christine Swan

It is easy to become overwhelmed when there seems to be so much division in the world and countless reasons to feel angry. This week, a couple of incidents caused me to think about how much better life would be if we were always kind and considerate.

In my professional life, I have learned over many years to recognise when I have been tactless or thoughtless with words or actions. It did not come naturally to my younger self. I would sometimes get a work colleague to check an email before I sent it: “Is this OK? Or too much?”. I did not trust my instincts.

Much of what I do involves giving people feedback and building relationships. It is not an easy thing to hear that you did not do something right. I remember my own PGCE university tutor watching me teach and remarking: “You sound like Margaret Thatcher – you should record yourself speaking.” I cannot begin to tell you how much that hurt on so many levels, for one, I am from Hackney! I was also told that I wasn’t really very good at anything – speaking, teaching, managing the class. It really was a depressing doom-fest of negativity with nothing hopeful to hold onto. I should have asked if I had done anything right, but I decided instead that I was a lost cause. And yet, here I am forty years on, still in the same trade.

Those of us in positions of responsibility have the power to deliver a message framed positively and to demonstrate that we care about the listeners’ feelings. We shouldn’t lie or try to dress up a difficult message so its meaning is becomes unclear, but we should be kind.

So, what prompted this week’s thoughts? I have been clearing my late parents’ house and discovered some medical paraphernalia that had been left. I knew it was there, lurking. Reminding me of my dark and lonely days just before my mother died. I had plenty of other things to sort so I put it under a folder and forgot about it. Upon rediscovering it, I resolved to take it back to her doctor’s surgery. I was greeted by a brusque receptionist. I explained that this pack had been left, that it was unopened, and that it contained medical kit. “We can’t take it and you can’t leave it here”, was the curt response. I attempted to explain that it had never been opened and that it contained sealed syringes and tubes. I was at a complete loss with how to deal with it. This was her own doctor’s surgery after all. “Yes, but it didn’t come from here. It came from the district nurses’ unit. They might be able to take it. We can’t. You can’t leave it here!” I had already explained the circumstances of me having the materials and it suddenly hit me that the receptionist was addressing a bereaved person. To say nothing of waste within the NHS , I could not understand why my surgery couldn’t help with such a simple task. Nevertheless, I gave up and left.

I tried the pharmacist attached to the surgery to see if they might help. The reaction was completely different: “Yes of course, no problem. By the way, have you had your flu jab lovely?” I am still baffled why the GP surgery, accessible via a door into the pharmacy, did not seem to be aware that they might be able to help. More than that, why is the default reaction cold and unhelpful? In situations such as these, there is always a choice as to how we proceed.

I had organised for a final clean of the property to take place a few days later. One cleaning company did not clean carpets. Another didn’t clean outside windows. One cleaned outside but not inside. Neither cleaned garages. One offered a complete service, but after providing a quote, never responded to my messages. Therefore I selected an outside cleaner and an inside cleaner, who could clean carpets, and decided to tackle the garage myself.

I think that the stereotype of a window cleaner is a happy chap with a ladder. In fact, the one I chose had a van, a brush with long poles and various cleaning materials. He was chatty, pleasant and obviously took great pride in a job well done. He even recorded himself getting off the worst of the algae from the window sills: “For my social media account”. I provided a smartphone tripod and even offered a microphone and stage lighting. He did a great job and I made a mental note to use his service again and to recommend. I was happy, he was happy and that’s how the best business is done.

A few days later, the inside, but not the outside or the garage, cleaner arrived. “Oh God,” she exclaimed upon entering the house, “this is terrible.” She took out her smartphone and immediately began taking photographs of the crime scene. In reality, it is a house that has been empty for some time, has had various tradespeople in to do various things, was completely empty, and just needed a clean. “Oh God this is awful. How long’s it been like this? Why didn’t you call us sooner? Oh God – there’s a spider!” I was beginning to question my sanity – surely it wasn’t that bad. was it? (It really wasn’t). I had employed a cleaning company and this was somehow too much? I was a whisker away from declaring: “OK, that’s fine, it’s clearly too much so let’s just call it a day now shall we?”. But then I remembered the trouble I had had in securing anyone capable and willing to clean inside, including carpets (but not the outside, or the garage). “How could you let it get like this? Didn’t you have the keys?” And there it was. Why hire a cleaner when I should have done it myself.

Losing my dad, my mum and most recently my daughter, limited my ability to “do it all”. Some things matter in life. Being kind to one another, but most of all, to yourself, is the most important priority for any of us. Sometimes, just getting through a day is enough. Other things really don’t matter, like dusting every day. Except perhaps in an art gallery. For some people, this is a priority, but I don’t live in an art gallery, so, it isn’t. “Would you like a coffee?” I asked. My thought process was that if perhaps I showed some kindness, maybe, just maybe, it might be reciprocated. It also prevented me from saying anything else that might come to mind. I felt a slight inclination to scream.

A short while later, the cleaning company manager phoned. “There’s no water.” I really should have just done the job myself, I thought. I explained about his operative’s complete shock at finding an empty house, dusty, with some spiders. My dad, my mum, my daughter. Loss, grief, despair. I tried not to say anything, I really did. “I really don’t need this”, I added. The manager was obviously rather shocked and said that he would speak to the operative. Just as I arrived to turn the water more fully on, this conversation was obviously underway. As I left again, I said: “Water’s on.” “I’m so sorry”, was the response.

Kindness costs nothing. In my local Asda supermarket, I always choose to use a manual checkout. There is one man who is usually on duty when I am in the store. He has the most wonderful smile and a kindly voice. He always asks how my day has been and wishes me a good evening. Of course, it may be just part of the script but it doesn’t feel like it. Kindness comes from the genuine self and is hard to fake. Just as Scrooge is a selfish miser at the start of A Christmas Carol and a generous, warm-hearted philanthropist by the end, we can all become more kind if we are willing to change. As we approach the festive season, this is a pursuit that, unlike much at this time of year, won’t leave us short in the pocket but will leave us full in our hearts.