Random Acts of... Procrastination, Really

Anyone who knows me well knows that I take great pleasure in placing little doodles and positive notes on the walls and windows of subway cars. Of my long-adopted habits, this is probably the one that brings me the most happiness, and I swear, some days it’s the only thing that lets me stay calm (and avoid erupting into long strings of questionably acceptable language) when I’m running half an hour late. Granted, there are a few people who are very aware of this tradition of mine who, frankly, don’t know me at all. There’s Mrs. Always Arguing On The Phone With Her Husband, Mr. Briefcase, Beats, and Bulletproof Coffee, and Purple Leggings are My Only Pants. There’s Judgey Knitting Lady, and the Father who buys his Adorable Little Girl a chocolate croissant every morning. I feel an odd connection to these individuals, although the force by which I’ve encountered them and have come to recognize them is quite random.

My New Year’s spruce is still up, and will be up until at least April. “Random Acts of Kindness” are similarly evergreen - a timeless way to become a Better Person. Hand a stranger on the street a dollar. Pay for someone’s lunch or pay the toll for the car behind you. Slip a bill into the pages of a library book, or leave your change in the little compartment of a vending machine. Give a friend a charity donation in their name for a gift. Tell someone to smile, and you’ve done your “Good Deed For The Day.” Climbed up a rung in the Good People Of The World ladder. And surely you’ve made a stranger’s day, right?

I’d argue that….well, ish. Giving a Random Act of Kindness surely feels fantastic. Receiving one, on the other hand, feels...odd. I’m very far from being what one might call “easily touched," but I can’t be alone in getting awfully, well, suspicious when a passersby suddenly gives me a dollar and says, beaming, “Have a Beautiful Day!” Do they want something from me in return? The psychological effect, reciprocation, has been mastered by charities; they offer all sorts of awfully generous free knick knacks when seeking donations. Is that dollar the equivalent of those free address labels I get from cancer foundations? When a cashier awkwardly tells me that my coffee’s been paid for by another customer, I quickly look down and make sure that I didn’t leave the house in THOSE sweatpants (with a couple dozen bleach stains and some paint spilled on them too.) Did I look like I couldn’t pay for it? I check my culturally-ingrained “Scary Slavic Expression” - did I seem to be having a horrible day? And, this is coming from a girl who likes drawing giant murals in sidewalk chalk the day before it rains and who goes out at 3 AM - clearly I have faith that the world is a good place.

“Random Acts of Kindness” remind me a bit of another kind of “Random Act” that I perform all too often. Let’s call them “Random Acts of Productivity,” shall we? I’m sure you can relate, or at least I sincerely hope so. It may be 3 AM and that paper may be due in four hours, but suddenly I’m the Housecleaning Hero. My floor needs sweeping! That month-old email needs answering! I must check my stocks! My notebook sits unopened on my desk, but you’ll find me in the kitchen making effing quinoa salad for tomorrow’s lunch. I’ll feel great looking at my spotless living room for a few minutes. Maybe feel a little less guilty for wasting the entire day doodling. But, really, I’m just avoiding something. Random Acts of Procrastination.

See, actually writing the stupid paper would be great, but it’s just not as appealing as my gram-worthy meal prep. It’s not sexy. “Non-Random Acts of Kindness” just really doesn’t have quite the ring of a “selfless” good deed. And yet,those tolls we pay for strangers may simply be a fact of blocking the much more real, yet nonrandom acts of kindness that those we love truly need. I put up cute drawings and little cursive compliments, but that in no way means that I don’t grouch at my mom when she asks me how to do something on my computer. Getting someone a free coffee looks like a Playboy centerfold girl compared to confronting the fact that I haven’t called my grandmother in three weeks. I could donate 50 dollars to Save The Whales in my father’s name; it’s not as if he’s been asking me for a month to help him fix our overhead lighting. That stranger you approach on the street might just get suspicious. Granted, my mom might suspect that I set a small fire in the kitchen or that I’ve emptied out the liquor cabinet when she comes home to fresh flowers, but her smile will be more genuine.

I’m not saying anything against Random Acts of Kindness. My friends are used to my approaching people with compliments and good wishes. Purple Leggings Girl is used to my occasional comments on passersby’s beautiful smiles or jewelry, and many of my friends have devoted hours of volunteer work to help feed people they will never look in the eye. That’s all fantastic. I’ll merely pose this. We’ve all seen the guys with wide open arms and a cardboard “Free Hugs” sign hanging around their neck. He may be the kindest man on earth, but the squirmy hugs he offers surely put out less overall positive ripples than hugging your husband when he’s had a bad day. I don’t want to treat strangers the way I treat my 4-AM pre-deadline Quinoa Salad. Maybe don’t pay that toll and pay for a phone call to Grandma. But I wouldn’t know - I’m off to go procrastinate.

(I ought to note that this was partially inspired by a few pages from the absolutely fantastic author Gretchen Rubin.)