A reflection on gentleness in a noisy, divided world
On a recent walk, I spotted some words that delighted and surprised me. Tucked into the undergrowth of a canalside autumn garden, written in white letters on a slate decorated with daisies, was an invitation to goodness. Its gentle encouragement brought a smile to my face. The final words—“BE ONE!”—were almost hidden by leaves, which somehow felt fitting. Perhaps being a person of kindness is something we might easily overlook in our noisy, shouty world.
That small discovery stayed with me. Not long after, I heard an interview on Radio 4 with the Irish actor Brendan Gleeson, who is currently appearing in The Weir at the Harold Pinter Theatre in London’s West End. He spoke about what drew him to the play, set in a pub.
“It is about people in life who have been underestimated by pretty much everybody, including themselves maybe, and are being invigorated by being offered gentleness and compassion… and then work towards the better part of themselves, revealing and allowing themselves to be vulnerable and sharing things from a place of generosity and not from taking.”
He went on:
“In a world where there is so much division and hatred, we seem to have become snarling creatures. I believe we are not essentially like that. That isn’t us. Our innate happiness comes from kindness and connections. That sense of community brings me joy.”
His words resonated deeply. Right now, it feels especially important not to forget kindness. Every day we are bombarded with a diet of outrage, opinion, judgment, and terrible news. It’s confusing and unsettling to live inside the constant clash of “my fake news versus yours.” No wonder so many of us retreat into survival mode, simply trying to make it through each day unscathed.
When our place in life feels uncertain, it is hard to break into a sense of security and safety inside. We take sides. We defend our corner. We raise our voices. Beneath it all, there is trauma—overwhelming experience that leaves us feeling we have no choice but to fight or flee. In such a state, we cannot risk listening; our ears are closed, and the touch paper is already lit. There is fire, but no illumination.
But kindness requires space.
It emerges when we feel secure enough to notice others. It flows most easily when we are calm enough to receive it and safe enough to give it. It can arrive quietly, with gentleness and subtlety.
I heard of a paramedic who, after having a difficult call, left his desk and came back to a cup of tea and a digestive biscuit at his workstation. How beautiful and how understated. As Gleeson says, kindness draws out the best of us. It restores our humanity. And we recognise it instantly when it does.
And so I return to that small slate in the garden: a hidden invitation among the daisies. Perhaps the message is simple after all. The world does not just need more kind people. It needs each of us to be one.