Channel Kindness

by Born This Way Foundation Reporters

  providing kindness and compassion through music can be euphoric.

  Mad Plaid Music has an inclusive atmosphere for patrons and students of all backgrounds, regardless of socioeconomic status, gender, or race. The family atmosphere means that if someone is hurting, we take care of one another. For instance, one of my vocal students’ parents was unexpectedly diagnosed with cancer. When her father expressed to me that he just wanted the lives of his children to remain normal, my fellow teachers and I rallied together to raise the money needed to ensure they could continue their lessons.

  Tricia recognizes that every genre and discipline of music helps us all bridge differences, and also that

  “music is a good creative outlet. It speaks to everyone, no matter what language we officially speak, what country we’re from, what race we are, our political affiliation, et cetera. Music is a universal language that everyone can relate to.”

  The store has been a safe place for folks of different ages to visit as their home away from home—almost as a kind of sanctuary. “The music store was my place to go when I was upset or not feeling well,” said one vocal student who, yes, refers to Tricia as being “like family.”

  Lots of Mad Plaid’s students get out to perform with one another in local coffee shops and schools. Tricia, Mad Plaid Music, and its teachers have instilled a passion in the students that has not only expanded their musical knowledge; it has widened the space in their hearts for giving and communicating with their peers and their communities.

  Every city should have a music store like Mad Plaid Music at its center. Not every customer or student will seek a professional path as a singer or musician, but everyone who spends even a brief amount of time in the confines of the store seems to absorb the love and joy of music itself and takes a little piece of that back out with them as they go, offering it to others for the sake of simply being kind.

  As an artist, I know there is a special joy, comfort, and peace found in music. I also know that music nurtures community because that’s exactly where I found mine. It is through my music that I can express myself, that I can connect with fans, and that my fans can connect with me. I’m overjoyed to hear that music has brought you to a larger community, Mallory! And you’re right, every city should have a music store like Mad Plaid Music. To bring the love of music to your community, check out Hungry for Music or VH1’s Save the Music Foundation.

  50

  THE Magic OF KINDNESS

  EMMA CARROLL

  Kindness.

  Why does it matter so much? More to the point, what does it really mean, anyway?

  If you look up the word in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, you’ll find that kindness, a noun, is defined in the following three ways:

  * * *

  the quality or state of being kind—treating people with kindness and respect.

  a kind deed: FAVOR (They did me a great kindness.)

  archaic: AFFECTION

  * * *

  We define it a little differently at Born This Way Foundation. Kindness, we like to say, can best be defined as: Doing something for someone else without expecting anything in return. As individuals and as a team, we strive for kindness every day—to empower, change, and enrich lives, to bond us more closely to one another, to replace loneliness with belonging, and to help make this a kinder, braver world.

  Kindness, I have seen over and over, has a power that we all too often underestimate. Kindness is a force of nature—in deeds that are small or large, whether performed by other people for us or by us for others. Kindness can literally be lifesaving.

  And it is magical.

  For most of my life—for reasons you’ll soon see—I’ve understood the need to be shown kindness. But it wasn’t until I was eighteen years old and going through a particularly painful passage that I learned how necessary it is to offer kindness to someone else—even to someone who, from all appearances and by almost every standard, might appear to be on the absolute top of the world.

  Though I’ve struggled for years to find beauty in my brokenness, it’s fair to say that I didn’t exactly have the easiest start. Born three months premature, weighing only two pounds and one ounce, the odds were stacked against me. After I sustained a brain bleed at birth, upon reviewing scans of my brain, doctors predicted that if I survived, it was highly likely I would have cerebral palsy—an umbrella term for a group of disorders that impair movement, and in some cases, cognitive function as well.

  The former part of their prediction ultimately came to pass. I’ve been in a wheelchair my entire life, am considered a quadriplegic, and much of my childhood was spent in and out of hospitals. Medical care made a huge difference—at least thirty procedures and surgeries so far—but kindness was the thing that really saved me.

  Kindness saved me, as I lay crying, contorted in pain and physical illness, during the early hours of one morning after an invasive surgery to put my dysplastic hips back in my socket—for the second time. During recovery, my nurses rarely left me alone as I suffered through the agony of having had my femur broken and realigned. In a body-cast that went from the tips of my toes to just below my ribs—a glow-in-the-dark, plaster shell—I was unable to lie in my bed lower than a forty-five-degree angle.

  Kindness saved me whenever my team of doctors had to break bad news, especially after we discovered I would need an incredibly risky spinal fusion surgery to correct severe neuromuscular scoliosis. Their confidence, concern, and caring helped give me the courage to go ahead with the eight-hour surgery and endure the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Their kindness helped me find my faith that God had put me in their capable hands and that I would make it through.

  Kindness saved me in the wake of two baclofen pump overdoses that could have killed me but instead left me hospitalized, horribly sick and traumatized. Other children, themselves patients on the floor, boosted my spirits by offering me their toys and their time. Their compassion gave me a sense of normalcy when I needed it most.

  And, of course, kindness saved me when, by some kind of magical stroke of good luck, I received an invitation to the Born Brave Bus, the celebrated bus that followed the Born This Way Ball throughout North America in 2013.

  No one mentioned anything about the possibility that I might meet Lady Gaga. All I knew was that visits had been organized on behalf of Born This Way Foundation. Naturally, at eighteen years old, all I could think was that this was absolutely rad.

  When I think about my life before and after that February day, it’s as if I’m looking at two different versions of myself. Before that day, I saw myself as broken, unworthy, unlovable, unkind. Beyond the many challenges of my childhood, I’d been haunted by depression for years, not to mention the problems of my physical health, once again on a downward spiral. Shortly before graduating high school I hit my personal rock-bottom just as symptoms of then-undiagnosed post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) became overwhelming.

  * * *

  What if I were normal?

  * * *

  I found myself constantly wrestling with that question, along with the completely warped idea that I didn’t do enough to better my health as a child.

  * * *

  Why am I here?

  * * *

  That question taunted me too, leaving me without concrete answers.

  Night after night, I would cry myself to sleep. Like many, I found solace in the message of “Born This Way” and my faith in God—that maybe, somehow, I had something to give. “If I can’t be cured,” I would say in my tear-soaked prayers, “please show me a sense of purpose.”

  That was me before February 6, 2013—when once again kindness helped me answer those questions. A new “me” was born in the moments after a petite Lady Gaga, sporting a bright neon green wig and towering high heels, entered the bus. In my imagination, she had always loomed larger than life.

  We’ve all seen the meat dress, after all!

  Very quickly, what I discovered was the complete opposite. Not only
did I see a real, genuine human underneath the glamour, but I also found a genuine sense of connection—and true kindness.

  We talked for hours at that show, and something made me realize she was in pain. Call it compassion, call it years of growing up in and out of hospitals, whatever you want, but without thinking, because I was going through very similar things at the time myself, right down to excruciating, daily hip pain, I asked her, “Is your hip bothering you? Are you in pain?”

  Eventually, Lady Gaga said that she had been in pain for quite some time due to the stress the show had put on her body. I felt for her, recommended what I could, watched an amazing show, and saw her again after. Everything went off without a hitch from the outside, and she met with other groups of fans who were chosen by tour staff.

  Before we parted, her last words to me were: “Emma, when you’re here, let me know. I want to see you again.”

  What I didn’t know yet was that, without telling anyone, she went to the hospital the next day and had an MRI, specifically of her hip. The test results revealed a severe injury that no one had known about, largely due to fibromyalgia, a chronic pain syndrome. She had been experiencing widespread pain for some time, but couldn’t identify what was hurting the most.

  I did.

  Somehow, a few simple, kind words made the difference for her. It’s a strange thing to accept, but a few years later—after I came aboard Born This Way Foundation—I recall having a hard mental health day, to the point that I felt my disabilities made me a burden, that she took me aside to set me straight. Quietly, Lady Gaga insisted I had saved her life on that February 6th meeting—simply by empathizing with her pain. Had I not said anything to her, she told me, she never would have gone to the hospital, and there’s a chance that her life would have turned out vastly, vastly different. She shared the same story with the audience on the Indianapolis stop of the Joanne World Tour; it totally changed my perspective. Knowing I had the same power to bestow kindness on her was the most gratifying lesson I could have been given.

  Although over seven years have passed since that fateful day in 2013, I can say without qualification that it stands above the rest in helping me to see the magic of kindness.

  If it weren’t for wonderful nurses, I wouldn’t have pushed through excruciating pain.

  If it weren’t for amazing doctors, I wouldn’t have faced my biggest fears.

  If it weren’t for innocent children also dealt a seemingly difficult hand, I wouldn’t have gotten through my biggest trauma.

  And if it weren’t for all of the incredibly difficult obstacles that I have encountered throughout life, I never would have shared kindness—and my pain—just like it was shared with me. Because I was able to share that connection, I not only met someone I’m now honored to call one of my best friends, but whom I helped push through her obstacles, too.

  Ultimately, I used my pain for someone else’s good, and at the end of the day, that’s all the girl that cried herself to sleep at night ever wanted. Do I still have bad mental health days sometimes? Of course, but kindness—both in what has been given to me and what I’ve been able to give to others—has been the thing that saved me.

  Even when the world around you seems hopeless, never forget: Always spread the magic of kindness. It changes other people, and it might just change you.

  * * *

  And that’s exactly how I found beauty in my brokenness.

  * * *

  Emma, you have been such a bright light in my life since the moment I met you! You have overcome so many obstacles, and your strength and courage continuously inspire me to find kindness in every situation I’m in. I’m so proud of you and am thankful for the gentle kindness you bring with you everywhere you go. Thank you for sharing your story with us, friend. We are all the better for it. I am eternally grateful for Emma and all the light she brings. In the space below, write three people you’re grateful for, and if you’re in need of a kind buddy like Emma or a positive support system, check out The Buddy Project.

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  HOW KINDNESS CAN HEAL OUR CITIES

  MAYOR TOM TAIT

  Former mayor Tom Tait of Anaheim, California, ran on a platform of kindness and won, serving from 2010 to 2018. Read his 2017 perspective on the transformative power of kindness and how it can make our cities stronger.

  Kindness is a big, powerful word. Super powerful. Kindness means doing something for someone else with no expectation. If you do something and expect a favor in return, it is no longer kindness, it is more like a contract. Kindness is moving beyond yourself. Kindness is much more than being nice. There is a love aspect to kindness.

  You can sit on your couch and be nice, respectful, considerate, empathetic, and even compassionate. But to be kind, you have to get off your couch and do something for someone else. It’s an action word. It’s a word that can change a family, a neighborhood, a school, a city, a nation and, ultimately, our world.

  Kindness often requires courage and overcoming fear. Bravery and kindness are closely linked on a deep level. Often kindness requires bravery. It is very fitting that Born This Way Foundation stresses both.

  A memory about that comes to mind.

  Tom, I remember your passion and persistence as you led Anaheim to become the City of Kindness, and I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you how in awe of you I truly am. It’s your innate belief in a better tomorrow that makes everyone who knows you want to believe in a better tomorrow, too. And that starts, as you say, by being kind. Thank you for being such a fierce advocate for kindness and for setting an example of how we can all be better human beings in our schools, homes, workplaces, and communities. We can only hope more cities follow your example. To learn how to make your city a kinder and braver place, check out City of Kindness.

  The year 2004 was my last year of a decade-long stint of serving as a city councilman in Anaheim, California. During my last few months in office, I noticed banners displayed around our city that said MAKE KINDNESS CONTAGIOUS. A friend of mine contacted me and suggested I meet the man who was putting these signs up. I scheduled an appointment, and he came to my office. He turned out to be a holistic doctor from Argentina, living in Anaheim, named Dr. Edward Jaievsky.

  When we met, he told me a story about his daughter, Natasha, who died in an accident while they were on a family vacation. When they returned home, he said that so many friends and neighbors told stories about little six-year-old Natasha constantly writing and talking about kindness. He found beautiful works of art and impactful words about kindness tucked away in her bedroom closet and drawers. He said Natasha’s wish was for a kinder world.

  He then told me something very profound.

  He told me that, in medicine, one can either treat the symptoms, or one can stimulate the body to heal from within. That’s what he did as a holistic doctor. He then said, “The same applies to a city … One can either treat the symptoms, or one can stimulate the city to heal from within … and I think that has something to do with kindness.”

  That’s when the light bulb went off in my head. Maybe it was because I had just spent the last ten years attempting to treat the city’s symptoms that I knew what he said was true—that there was a better way to fix our problems.

  Six years later, that statement was the reason I ran for mayor under a platform of creating a culture of kindness in order to heal our city from within. The question is, How?

  For one thing, culture is developed by a group of people adhering to specific core values. I know from business that the value of any organization comes from its culture. The best person to develop a culture in any organization is its leader. In a company, the cultural leader is typically the CEO. So, if a CEO can develop a culture in a company, I thought, why can’t a mayor develop a culture in a city? And if a mayor can develop a culture of kindness, then, I believe, everything in that city will get better.

  Imagine a city that has a culture of being kind. It’s a city where one is expected to do kind acts as a s
ort of civic duty. It’s a city where the chance of everyone doing a kind act is just a little greater than it would have been otherwise. It’s a city of kindness.

  If we can make that a reality, everything gets better. Certainly crime will drop, bullying at schools will drop, senior citizen neglect will drop, addiction to alcohol and drugs will drop, and so on and so on.

  We know kindness has the power to connect people and build community.

  It is also the mortar that connects the blocks that build a city’s social infrastructure. A community connected by acts of kindness is safer from crime and more prepared for an inevitable disaster, either natural or manmade. Kindness is what makes a city, a school, a neighborhood, or a family more resilient. It makes us healthier, individually and collectively. In fact, I think kindness is the antidote to all the bad things going on these days. And to quote Lady Gaga when she spoke to the United States Conference of Mayors in 2016: “Kindness costs nothing … but it’s priceless.”

  The citizens of Anaheim refer to our home as a City of Kindness. Not that we are always kind, but that’s what we are striving to be. The important thing is that we’re getting there, and we’re being led by the kids.

  The kindergarten through sixth graders in the Anaheim Elementary School District completed one million acts of kindness. This changed the schools. Although there were no academic studies that measured the collateral effects of this effort, we do know that each individual act of kindness has the power to transform a life. And the kids did a million of them. For example, it is hard to imagine a kid being bullied in a school that’s filled with so many kind acts.