I visited my brother, Ned in Steamboat Springs Colorado.  We drove all over, he picked me up in Denver, we drove to our friend's in Carbondale and finally he drove me back to Denver so I could continue on my way to San Francisco.  I was driving his white Subaru Outback way up in the mountains between Steamboat and Denver, in the middle of the high desert when suddenly a puff of smoke comes out of the engine and hits the windshield.  At first it looks like a snowball, but upon using my brain for a second, considering there was so snow up there, and with Ned telling me to, I pulled over.  Immediately, the guy driving an SUV behind us pulled over and takes the initiative since we have absolutely no knowledge of cars, he pops the hood and tells us what he thinks is wrong (a broken radiator hose), tells us about where we are and makes sure we have cell service before driving off.  It was a beautiful sunny day and we happened to be broken down alongside some beautiful fields, the only sign of human activity being hay bales, barbed wire and the road itself--so at least we had a nice view.  

In the hour or so that it takes for the tow truck to come and drive us to the nearest town, about six concerned motorists stop to see if we're okay.  Each one makes sure we're safe, have cell reception, have help coming and then make some general small talk. This is one of those situations in which people would probably not answer that they stopped out of kindness to us, they would say they stopped because it's their 'duty' as humans.  I see these two as inextricably tied; it doesn't matter which one of these terms, duty or kindness, was the initiating factor, the outcome is the same: Ned and I felt a huge amount of kindness was bestowed upon us in that hour on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere Colorado.  

On a 16-hour greyhound from Dallas, Texas to Las Cruces, New Mexico I ended up sitting next to Peter from Dallas who, after introducing himself, said he was visiting his fiance? (he said it with the question mark in his tone) near Las Cruces.  He went on to tell me all about how he 'sort of accidentally proposed' to his now fiance....there was some wine, some talk of marriage, and there happened to be a ring in his pocket...  We spent the next 13 or so hours talking about his predicament: Did he really even want to marry her? Was it either break up or get married?  Was he too young?  They were pretty typical pre-marriage freak out questions ('typical' being of my vast knowledge of romantic comedies).  This conversation was a godsend to me as it was an amazing distraction from the recently released felons sitting across the row from me, hacking up a lung.  When we were about to get the bus, at first light, Peter hugged me and told me that he would never have figured this out without someone to talk to and that I was definitely going to be invited to the wedding that he decided he was pretty sure would be ensuing in the next couple of years.  This was one of those situations where two strangers made a serious connection, I learned way more about him than I ever thought possible of a random greyhound man, and he was able to spill his guts and get a completely non-partisan perspective on the subject.  He made the trip enjoyable for me and I made this situation easier for him, just by having ears and the ability to nod. 

I somehow, semi-randomly ended up in LIttle Rock, Arkansas--a place I only knew about in terms of being a symbol of desegregation in the late 50's.  I needed to kill some time between my stay in Memphis  and my friend's wedding in Dallas, so I looked at the map and Little Rock is basically the only place between the two.  I stayed with a guy named Jake I met on couchsurfing.  Over a beer at a bar called Stickyz, he told me that since I'm already in Arkansas, I might as well check out the Ozarks and he immediately started calling his friends he knew in the area.  No one was responding, but the next night he had 'overbooked' his couch and two girls (who are fourth cousins), Daisha and Lauren and I had a slumber party on Jakes floor.  Turns out, they both live in the Ozark area, Daisha in Harrison, AR and Lauren in Branson MO.  So, after Lauren ran the marathon that they were in town for, the three of us bid farewell to our host and drove three hours north to Harrison AR, which happens to also be the hometown of the leader of the KKK.  I spent two nights up there, the first with Daisha in her home next to the church she attends.  We went to the annual 'wild game night' fundraiser for the youth group where we ate fried frogs legs, wild boar sausage and lots of deer, all hunted and cooked by members of the congregation.  Early the next morning, Daisha drove me thirty minutes to Branson, to spend the day and night with Lauren.  Lauren let me use her blinkerless car all day to wander and interview people, before taking me out to a local Irish pub. 

My point in sharing this string of events is to show that in three days I was shown countless acts of kindness by multiple people.  Jake and these girls, with no hesitation, offered me a ride, a place to stay, conversation, even the keys to a car.  More than that, though, they offered me three completely different perspectives of these places; Jake, a grad student going for two masters degrees; Daisha an uber religious, rock climber, pre-teen youth group leader; and Lauren, a wanderlusty and wonderfully fun recreation manager at a resort in Branson, MO.  All of us, though very different, were flung together and now have a connection, even a friendship, that was sparked by the kindness they shared with me and with each other.