I am not a domestic goddess: I have a cooking repertoire of precisely three dishes, and only buy clothes that can be worn straight from the tumble-drier. However, a few days ago, I ironed all of my husband’s shirts in a marathon session, just for the palpable frisson of knowing how happy it would make him not to have to press them himself for the next 15 or so mornings.
As I placed the last shirt on a hanger, I realised that my twentysomething self would have been horrified to see me there, surrounded by laundry, humming along to jazz tunes.
To my younger eyes, I would have looked every inch the uncool and oppressed housewife I vowed I would never become. Before I am banished from the sisterhood for ever, I want to state here and now that I am, without equivocation, a feminist to my core. However, I no longer feel I have to prove it to myself, to my twentysomething self or to anyone else. What I have come to realise is what savvy feminists have known all along: that giving in such a way and accepting genuine kindness does not compromise or oppress me.
I have finally realised what my darling grandparents demonstrated many years ago: extreme kindness brings its own rewards. Both had demanding jobs but my granddad made time to build and light a fire every morning so that my nan never had to wake up to a cold house, and she, in turn, ensured his evening meal was ready when he arrived home from work. They each lived to make the other happy and never doubted that they were equals.
While I was busy in my twenties making sure I always stood alternate rounds of drinks with even the wealthiest of companions, I failed to recognise that equality was about accepting differences and that generosity was the opposite of keeping score.
Like most people, I have been the recipient of many small (and not so small) kindnesses over the years. There’s nothing quite like opening the door to an unexpected bouquet of flowers or being on the receiving end of a grand gesture, but I think it’s the small everyday kindnesses that make the world a better place to live in. Holding a door open for the person a few steps behind you, sending a handwritten thankyou note instead of a text, letting the person who’s buying just a couple of items jump ahead of you in the supermarket queue… They are tiny sacrifices that can really brighten someone’s day.
My husband and I married and honeymooned in New York a decade ago. I was hugged enthusiastically on Brooklyn Bridge by a complete stranger who spotted the tiny bundle of wedding flowers I was carrying. She then took our hands in hers and wished us a happy and long life together before disappearing into the city. She could have just walked past us or given us a knowing smile, but she took that extra step to make it memorable for us.
A few years ago we moved away from the seaside to a place in the city, and I really missed hearing the waves crashing against the sea wall on windy days.
I mentioned this to a friend, Jason. A couple of weeks later a small parcel arrived – Jason had actually gone to the beach, stayed there for half an hour on a chilly autumn day, and recorded the sound of the crashing waves with a little message on the end about how I’d now always have the sound of the sea with me.
It was one of the loveliest things anyone has ever done for me. He died unexpectedly a couple of years ago, but his kindness lives on – people remember him by such generosity.
I love this time of year when the days are slowly getting lighter, holding out the promise of spring and new possibilities. Yes, many of us will wake up on Monday morning and steel ourselves for a week in which we might be elbowed on the train, cut up on the roads or caught in a torrential downpour without an umbrella – it’s hardly any wonder that lottery ticketqueues are so long on Friday evenings.
We each have a many-million-to-one chance of winning the jackpot this week, but just in case it isn’t me this time, I’m holding on to the knowledge that I can create my own happiness revolution. I started earlier this week with 15 shirts.
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