In my car, I keep two post-it notes tucked within the sun visor of the driver’s seat. While I was in college, I would often go up to the Bryan/College Station area to spend my weekend with a number of friends I had made there. It had become a place of great comfort to me whilst I was finding it difficult to find a feeling of real belonging in Austin. That being said, I also struggled to work through the insecurity that I felt when spending time in Aggieland; it was hard to picture myself as a valued part of their community, rather than a temporary guest. There were times when I would wonder if I should continue to come back—or if I was really just imposing my own needs and taking advantage of their politeness in showing up.
Twice, though, I found notes left neatly placed on my car window, stuck there early enough in the morning for me to find it when I got up to drive home. They are from separate events, months apart, written by different people. These notes have created an interminable gratitude and confidence in me—I have borne witness to the fruit of a shared connection in these near-mindless services. The care for another required to spur yourself to such minute inconveniences, in my mind, is a love I cannot fathom, but can still eagerly accept.
I have left those notes there in my car for years, so long that the ink has faded. I do not think of them often, and yet I do not cease to carry myself in a way that has undoubtedly been born from their kindness and the kindness of other small acts like them.