 The message is everywhere. (Pixabay.com) A car in my neighborhood proudly displays the bumper sticker “Humankind. Be both.”
I doubt that in this context, human refers to physical traits. My own aging process constantly reminds me I have no choice but to acknowledge the humanity of my body. Rather, here being human must point toward intentionally claiming a nature that includes the humility to see our own imperfections of thought and behavior. But it’s not the human part of the quip that gives me pause each time I pass by. My word-oriented mind sticks on kind. I see this admonition as a gradual cultural shift, and a huge difference from the word on which I was raised: nice. Because childhood looms large in my thoughts this time of year, I easily recall those early lessons in proper behavior. I was taught to be nice. For the most part, Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary Online adequately defines my nice upbringing. From my earliest memory, I’ve reaped consequences for not acting polite, pleasing, agreeable, and easygoing. Anyone who knows me also realizes that has entailed a lot of consequences. Although I’ve never toed the nice line, I nevertheless feel guilty for my lack of geniality. The “act-nice” voices in my head come from more than just parents, relatives, and teachers. My favorite books provided endless examples of pleasant (and thus beloved) children, and I spent many formative years in Minnesota, a polite and well-behaved environment infamous for “Minnesota nice.” Maybe as a stab at balance, I’ve always managed to surround myself with people who do behave nicely. In a group, I stand out. It’s my family, friends, and coworkers who are affable, patient, and gracious. I’m not surly or unsociable, unless quite stressed or tired; but in my busy mind, the “act-nice” voices are usually drowned out by the overwhelming urgency of internal stories—stories about why things and people are the way they are and whether observed reality makes any sense. Or is fair. Or needs to be changed. I can’t stop looking beneath the surface and questioning, well, everything. And seekers like me—constantly challenging others, themselves, and the world—tend to project a sharpness that’s more discomforting than pleasing. Kind is the new standard. The past few decades, though, I’ve noticed a push toward what’s termed kindness. Anne Herbert is credited for first penning the words “random acts of kindness” in 1983, and there’s now at least one Random Acts of Kindness nonprofit. Catherine Ryan Hyde’s bestselling Pay It Forward was originally published in 1999, followed by the well-received film version in 2000. As the bumper sticker and greeting cards and posters and memes say, it’s time to be kind. Surprisingly, though—at least to me—the idea of kindness takes us back to Merriam-Webster’s description of the way we currently use the word nice. According to their considerable research, numerous English speakers and writers now include kind in the definition of nice. And not acting at all nice about it, that raises a huge why for me. When did these words lose their distinction from one another, and how did language shapers (that’s us, not the dictionary—lexicographers only report what we’ve already done) conflate the gentleness of a sympathetic, helpful nature with the social performance of harmonious congeniality? Is “kind of nice” a thing? I notice kindness in others and bemoan its lack in myself. My regret for missed opportunities to be kind is much deeper and longer lasting than the transient pangs of guilt I experience when I don’t behave nicely. I often thank people for their kindness. And yes, I’m aware of pleasant conduct and appreciate the way self-control and learned manners contribute to social cohesion and diminished friction. I also notice when nice is missing, not just in myself but in others. Yet I seldom remark on niceness. And I disagree with anyone who thinks nice means kind. We can act nice without kindness. We can both appear nice and be kind. We can neither act nice nor be kind. And—my only hope for salvation—we can be kind even if we ignore the nice memo. Nice is doing. It’s action and appearance. That appearance bit especially comes into play when we want to impress or manipulate others. Being known as a “nice person” massages our egos, and tit for tat is a time-honored game. Nice food servers can spit in our salads back in the kitchen. Nice friends can stab us in the back over drinks with their other friends. Nice bosses can let us go and never get around to writing references. Nice spouses can cheat while assuring us of their love. Nice reduces conflict. And sometimes we can take it at face value, but I still don’t trust it. Given a choice between someone who does a bad job but acts nice about it versus someone who takes enough care for excellence but lacks affability, I’ll take excellence any day. Nice doesn’t give me the results I bargained for. It can mean slow service, shoddy work, and sham relationships. How can we recognize true kindness? While niceness keeps the peace, kindness creates it. Despite the catchphrase “random acts of kindness,” kind is a way of being. It’s who we are, not a performance. And it’s never manipulative. Kind is a work mentor who quietly helps a newbie. No recognition, no reward, no reason other than a desire to ease the way for another. Kind is a husband who bites his lip (for the hundredth time) and, without critical comment, again listens to the negative rants of his tired or stressed wife—although she never seems to notice or appreciate his silent understanding. Kind is an adult daughter or son who has a hundred other ways to spend limited time and money but uncomplainingly, consistently, and without agenda, chooses to use it on a parent—regardless of how much the parent confuses their own entitled sense of expectation with their grown offspring’s free choice of generosity. Kind is a friend who takes the time to share thoughts, opinions, and experiences with another—and does it wanting nothing but connection and relationship. Kind is an anonymous stranger going out of their way—and ignoring their own time schedule—to help a lost, panicked tourist find the right train. Those are kindnesses that define a person, and they’re the forms of being kind that I express gratitude for. If I’ve neglected to say “thank you,” that isn’t nice behavior on my part. Kind people, you know who you are. Forgive my poor manners, and accept my sincere appreciation now. To state it clearly: a kind nature is found in someone who sincerely cares about the best interests of another—and not just their own. Would you rather be nice or kind? In an October 2018 post, I mentioned having wrestled with Gerald Jampolsky’s conundrum: “You can be right or you can be happy.” For a long time, I couldn’t separate the two. For me, being happy required being right—until I finally learned it’s possible to be wrong and happy. I understand, then, there are undoubtedly those who likewise link niceness and kindness, believing it’s impossible to act nice without being kind. Obviously, though, I see the two attributes as distinct. I could be happily wrong, of course; but for the sake of discussion, of connection, of relationship, let’s briefly imagine I’m right. If I posed the challenge “You can be nice or you can be kind,” which would you prefer in yourself? In others? In humankind? I think that bumper sticker is onto a nice ideal. Being completely human means being authentically kind. Especially in the midst of conflict, tension, and disagreement. Maybe this is the decade humanity will stop pretending and become caring. I’d like to be that sort of person myself. Below, please share your experiences of nice, kind, both, or neither. How were you raised? What do you see around you now? What would you like more of in yourself and in the world?
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