Being a softie is actually pretty damn brave.

Be Brave Friday

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

I’m pretty bad at asking for help.

This is not because I think I’m the only person who can do something the “right” way. It’s because I’m afraid of being a bother, mostly.

The thing is that it’s hard to grow as a person if you don’t ask for help. It’s hard to grow as a business, too.

This November, Shaun and I asked for help for the Bar Harbor Story, which is our daily local news site that we put out to everyone with no paywalls because we want people to have access to local news without having to worry about paying for it. The problem is that we spend so much time doing it that it’s taking away from things we usually make money at. We love doing this paper. Honestly love it. It feels like our purpose. But we also have to pay bills.

So, we asked for help if people wanted to—no pressure. And people were so lovely and supportive and kind. Their notes were so inspiring. I cried pretty much every time someone reached out.

I cry at kindness. I cry at support.

I also cry at meanness. That sort of crying isn’t as fun.

This white polar bear was sent to me by someone in my community that’s been vilified, too, despite the fact that he saves dogs and people all the time. He sent this white polar bear because it looks like our last dog Gabby. One of the cats in this photo is still mourning that all-white dog three years later, loving on everything white and fluffy that she can. How kind is that that he sent this? Too damn kind.

A bit ago, I wrote on here, about how my community wasn’t just toxic but had poetry within it, how people were doing kind things over and over again. In response, I got one of the meanest emails I’ve ever received in my life.

I try not to care about stuff like that. I try not to let it take up too much space in my head because my head only has a limited amount of space. But it’s there—meanness is there.

Here’s the thing though. Kindness is there, too. You shouldn’t have to be brave to talk about that kindness, but it is 2025 and apparently you do.

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THE KINDNESS AND THE BEING BRAVE

Mr. Murphy wondering why we’re in this house with no water

Yesterday, my daughter and I went to her house that she bought. It’s old. It’s rambling. It’s beautiful. It’s not in our town because she—like a lot of people—can’t afford a house in our town.

We were super excited. We were going to paint a room. It was Mr. Murphy Dog’s first visit to the house because it’s in that moving-in-place and Mr. Murphy’s been through a lot of trauma before he got to Em. She didn’t want to put him through too much more.

We went to Home Depot. We bought paint. We bought supplies.

And we got to the house. The first thing I did was run some water for Mr. Murphs. The problem?

There was no water.

“Oh no,” I said.

“What does this mean?” Em asked.

It means that our day was not going to go as planned. At all.

Here’s the hard truth about me. My mechanical IQ and house IQ and plumbing IQ is negative ten on a scale of 200. This isn’t a quirky-cute-girl thing. This is a legitimate me being flawed thing.

So, I knew we were in trouble. I called a plumber. It would be two weeks before they could come. I called five more. Nobody else answered their phones.

We sat on the couch. We googled. We had those looks on our faces that meant that we were about to cry. Would pipes burst? Would water rush down walls? Would everything be destroyed?

We had no clue.

And then I posted on Facebook. And I asked for advice. And people gave it.

This is just a tiny bit of the responses

It was more than that though. One man who owns houses offered to come over. He could be there in 90 minutes.

Another man who runs a nonprofit sent someone over. He listened to me try to find the water main turn off as I walked through a basement that’s over 100 years old and he didn’t laugh at how dorky and pathetic I was. He commiserated and he found us help. And then his help found us help. Every one of those men talked about how great the other guy was, how much they admired each other. How beautiful, how generous is that?

Other people gave advice. They offered ideas. They offered sympathy. They texted. They called. They messaged.

They were there for us.

They didn’t have to be. They could have scrolled on by.

And you know what that is? It’s kindness. It’s brave. It’s community.

The people who offered the most hands-on help? They aren’t close friends that I dine with. They are people that I have seen vilified more than once by others.

And I’m tired of that.

It’s really easy to make other people into demons. It’s easy to pretend that people are flat and one-dimensional. Even the person who wrote me that mean email? He isn’t one-dimensional. He does kind things, too.

It’s really easy to pretend and bemoan that values and kindnesses don’t exist.

They do.

You just have to see it.

I’m not a special person. I’m just a person.

And people offered to help me and Em. No questions asked.

That is important.

It’s brave.

Kindness is brave. But you know what else is? Calling out that kindness. Yeah, it doesn’t sell. It doesn’t get you followers or reads, but it is real.

So freaking real.

So, thank you for being kind. Thank you for lifting up others. Thank you for being here with me. I am so lucky to be with you.

Shoot. Now I’m going to start to cry! But you know what? That’s okay. Being a softie isn’t weak. Being a softie is actually pretty damn brave. And so is asking for and giving help.

Mr. Murphy checking out the doggy-level window at Em’s house on the stair landing

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The Poetry of Bar Harbor