When My Kindness Is Your “Yuk!”

Posted on February 2, 2016 by Donna Cameron

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” (Rumi)

When my husband is sick, he wants to be left alone. He’s like an animal that crawls off to die in seclusion. I would like to fuss over him, fluff his pillows, mop his brow, croon “poor baby,” but that’s not what he wants.

When I’m sick, I like a little attention—not a lot, just check in on me occasionally, make sure I’m still breathing, and see if I want some ginger ale or a couple of choruses of “Soft Kitty.” Over the years, Bill has perfected exactly the right amount of solicitous attention to help me feel cared for but not smothered. A few degrees in either direction and I would feel either neglected or pestered.

That’s one of the challenges of kindness: learning to meet the other person’s needs and not impose your own.

It’s for this reason I’ve never been entirely comfortable with the “golden rule,” do unto others as you would have them do unto you—a sentiment promulgated by nearly every major religion. The problem is: what I may want in certain circumstances may not be what another person might want. If I always go by what I’d like, it’s quite probable I won’t meet the other person’s needs.

For example, I tend to be a fairly private, low-key person. As a rule, I don’t like to be the center of attention (the exception being when I have a microphone in my hand). I’m not comfortable with effusive thanks or effusive praise. But I know other people who are—who welcome it and thrive on it. Were I to follow the golden rule, I would treat them with the reserve that I prefer for myself. My preferences aren’t everyone’s preferences, though, and if lavish and unrestrained praise are what my friend craves, that really is what I want to offer him.

The “platinum rule” says treat others the way they want to be treated. That requires more mindfulness on our part, and an ability to be empathetic. We also risk guessing wrongly. “I thought for sure she’d like being serenaded by the high-school marching band for her birthday, but it turned out she would have preferred a quiet dinner for two.” Oops!

Another example: I don’t like surprises. They leave me tongue-tied and inspire a sort of “fight or flight” response. If something wonderful is coming my way, I want to know about it well in advance so I can savor not only the experience, but the anticipation of it. And, if it’s something not so wonderful coming my way, I want to know about that, too, so I can be prepared and have time to think about how I will handle it. I. don’t. like. surprises.

But I have friends who love surprises, and I would never deprive them of that pleasure because I don’t understand or share the attraction. Under the platinum rule, I consider their desires and help plan the surprise party or maintain secrecy about the big event to come. I may not agree, but I respect their preference and honor it.

This is probably easier to do with people we know well. After a few years (decades?) of trial and error, we understand their needs and wishes, we know how to please.

It’s harder with casual friends, colleagues and acquaintances. We may make the mistaking of assuming that what they’d like is the same as what we’d like.

It’s even harder with strangers. How on earth can we know what they want? I read a comment recently from a man who said he had ceased offering his seat on the bus to women, the elderly, or people who appeared to be disabled. After eight people refused his offer, displaying varying levels of offense that he thought they were incapable of standing, he resolved to keep his nose in his book and not offer again.

There’s no question that it’s awkward and uncomfortable when our attempts at kindness are rejected. I can also understand the point of view of the people who refused his kind offer—it may have made them feel weak, or challenged their independence. As I think about how I might react in that situation, I’m guessing I would probably refuse, too (though graciously, I hope), thinking I don’t need any special treatment and am perfectly capable of standing. The question becomes: is it kinder to accept his offer or to allow him to keep his seat? It all depends on your perspective. No wonder people abandon civilization and make their homes in hermit caves. It’s a whole lot easier than navigating social niceties in a complex world.

I wonder if there is a way to offer that makes it easier on everyone. Perhaps he could say, “I would love to offer you my seat if you would consider taking it,” while rising and offering his most dazzling smile.

Knowing that our kindness may sometimes be unwelcome shouldn’t deter us from extending kindness to the best of our ability and our judgment. It means never assuming we know what someone else wants, but asking. And if we are on the receiving end of misdirected or clumsy kindness, we need to be able to appreciate the intent, even if it missed the mark.

The best we can do is the best we can do….

“Humans aren’t as good as we should be in our capacity to empathize with feelings and thoughts of others, be they humans or other animals on Earth. So maybe part of our formal education should be training in empathy. Imagine how different the world would be if, in fact, that were ‘reading, writing, arithmetic, empathy’.” (Neil deGrasse Tyson)

I’m just sayin’ … honesty isn’t always kind

Posted on November 11, 2015 by Donna Cameron

“Today I bent the truth to be kind, and I have no regret, for I am far surer of what is kind than I am of what is true.” (Robert Brault)

“I’m just saying this for your own good.”

“Don’t be so thin-skinned. I’m just telling it like it is.”

“Hey, I call it like I see it.”

“Jeesh, you’re so touchy!”

These phrases are often used to justify saying hurtful things. Sometimes the speaker may really believe that the listener needs to hear his unvarnished opinion about the poor sap’s looks, abilities, opinions, or prospects.

Speaking on behalf of poor saps everywhere, we don’t. We don’t need someone to tell us all the things that are wrong with us or all the things we don’t do as well as we should. That’s what that persistent little voice in our own head does—and it doesn’t need any help.

There are things that need to be said and things that don’t need to be said. If we pause to think before we speak, we generally know the difference.

“You’d be so much prettier if you’d just lose fifteen pounds,” doesn’t need to be said—ever.

“You might want to get that spinach off your front tooth before you make your presentation,” needs to be said. Thank you!

“The other kids in your class certainly have more artistic ability than you do,” doesn’t need to be said, even if it’s abundantly clear to everyone but your eight-year-old.

I don’t advocate lying. I was raised in a home where honesty was valued and I consider honesty to be one of the most important characteristics of good people. That being said, I believe there are times when telling the truth may not be the best course of action. And being able to discern the appropriate time for truth-telling and the appropriate time for silence or even a downright lie is another important characteristic of good people…certainly of kind ones.

Some lies are obvious, some a bit more subtle.

To the question, “Honey, does this dress make me look fat?” any spouse who answers that with anything but, “You look gorgeous!” or a similarly reassuring exclamatory statement really hasn’t thought through the business of being married.

“It’s perfect! Thank you so much!” in response to an ugly, impractical, or totally preposterous gift is always a wise response, even if it’s a whopper of a lie. Would you really rather hurt the giver’s feelings and then live with the regret of having done so? Receiving graciously—even when the gift is unwanted—is one of the kindest behaviors we can learn.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” There are times—and we usually know when they are—when telling an acquaintance about our persistent rash, impending colonoscopy, or chronic foot fungus is entirely unnecessary. The depth of the relationship is a good gauge of how much detail to provide when someone asks the innocuous and automatic question, “How are you?”

If you’re contemplating telling a lie, think about your motive behind it:

Are you lying to make yourself appear to be something that you are not—smarter, stronger, more successful or more interesting? Think again, and exercise your courage muscles. You’re fine exactly as you are—why pretend to be something that you’re not? Would you rather be authentic or an imposter? Would you rather people liked and respected you for who you really are, or because they think you’re something that you’re not? Besides, when you deceive others you must remember the story you fabricated—otherwise you are likely to get caught in your lie later—and you’ll either feel foolish or have to come up with more lies. It’s not worth it.

Are you lying to make a sale, deflect blame, get recognized, or advance your career? No matter how innocuous the lie may seem, your trustworthiness and integrity are at stake here—even if you’re the only one who knows that. Are they worth tarnishing for anything? I recently came upon a quote by Ryan Freitas that sums it up pretty well: “Your reputation is more important than your paycheck, and your integrity is worth more than your career.”

Are you lying to spare someone’s feelings? Under these circumstances, lying may be both acceptable and desirable. Add another question: is anyone harmed … if I tell my work colleague that her new hair style is great when, in fact, my first thought was that she looks like a radish on a stick?

On the Receiving End of Kindness…

Posted on February 3, 2015 by Donna Cameron

“One who knows how to show and to accept kindness will be a friend better than any possession.” (Sophocles)

[As I wrote this post, I had the distinct impression that this might be a gender-specific issue. So to any men who happen to read it, take what you will, and perhaps there will be something that you can relate to. Accept that you are wise, and handsome, and remarkably accomplished….]

Even if we don’t have the resources to give all that we would like to give, we always have the capacity to receive graciously. It sounds so simple, but it can be surprisingly hard. Think of the times someone tried to give you something and you demurred—perhaps because you didn’t think they could afford it, or you didn’t feel worthy, or it was simply your initial reaction to an awkward situation. Maybe the gift wasn’t something you wanted; perhaps you didn’t want to feel indebted. Or maybe you are among the cynical who wonder what’s the catch?

Did your refusal of their offer please them, or did it disappoint? In retrospect, would a gracious thank-you have made both of you happier and immensely more comfortable?

Giving is such a pleasurable act. Yet we often deny our friends and acquaintances—and even strangers—the joy and satisfaction of giving by being such terrible receivers.

And the gift doesn’t have to be something material. How often do we devalue the gift of another’s words by refusing their compliments? We deflect kind words about our appearance by saying, “No, I look terrible! My hair needs cutting and I need to lose ten pounds, and look, I’ve lost a button on this shirt.” Do you really think they complimented us just to hear us point out all our flaws? I seriously doubt it.

How much better to respond with, “How nice of you to say so,” or “Thanks for your kind words, they make me feel great!”

In his book, Imperfect Alternatives, Dr. Dale Turner quotes a friend who chided him for brushing off a compliment: “When someone gives you a compliment in words, don’t disagree or minimize what he says, for words are gifts, too. Accept them gratefully, even though you don’t think you deserve them….. A compliment is a gift not to be thrown away carelessly unless you want to hurt the giver.”

We also reject compliments on our achievements by down-playing them. We say, “No, it really wasn’t anything special. Anybody could have done it. I was lucky.” It’s as if we are saying, No, you dolt. Can’t you see I’m really an incompetent nincompoop? It’s always great to share credit—that’s another form of kindness (not to mention decency)—but minimizing the overall accomplishment serves no one.

How much better to say, “Thank you, I’m really pleased with the result, too,” or “Yes! Don’t we have a fabulous team!?”

As I pose the question of why accepting compliments is something most of us aren’t very good at, I realize this is a much larger issue for women than for men. When was the last time you complimented a man on his new suit and he responded by saying that it makes his butt look big? Doesn’t happen.

Most of the men I interact with know how to accept compliments about their work. Hell, they expect kudos … and good for them for having those expectations.

A lot of women were raised with the direct or indirect instruction to hide their light under a bushel. Our mothers told us to be modest. Our teachers encouraged humility and restraint. Somebody else kept mumbling that the meek will inherit the earth.

Let’s Reframe Our Response to Compliments

Perhaps if we reframe our response to gifts and compliments we can learn to receive them. Instead of questioning whether we deserve them, or fearing that we will appear conceited, or that we are getting more than our share, let’s stop thinking about ourselves and think instead about the giver. Think about the kindness we can extend to them by accepting their gift with grace.

Why don’t we all set an intention of receiving compliments graciously for the next 21 days and see how that feels. No demurring. No downplaying. No false modesty. And while we’re at it, let’s extend some compliments. I don’t know anyone who couldn’t use a few. Do you?

“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.” (Leo Buscaglia)

Rejecting Kindness

Posted on January 20, 2015 by Donna Cameron

“Kindness can become its own motive. We are made kind by being kind.” (Eric Hoffer)

It can be upsetting and bewildering when someone rejects our kindness. An act which was meant to be helpful and benign is rebuffed or rejected. Sometimes, the intended recipient even lashes out at us. What did we do wrong? Are we in some way at fault, or inadequate?

As a result, the next time we want to extend a kindness, we hesitate—fearing rejection or scorn. Our act of kindness dies before it is born. Some weeks it feels like there is worldwide scarcity of kindness, and we must do our part to keep the impulses alive.

There is a simple saying that I use often in working with groups or in one-on-one situations: We assume one another’s good intent. So simple, and yet so powerful. If only we could always remember it!

The Seattle Times runs a daily section call “Rant and Rave.” It invites readers to share examples of good and bad behavior and positive and negative encounters in our community. The raves are frequently descriptions of generosity and kindnesses experienced and witnessed—they’re often uplifting and touching, little vignettes that reinforce our shared humanity. Here’s an example: “For the Men’s Warehouse employees who helped my developmentally disabled son have the senior prom he’d dreamed of, and for his teachers who made it all happen. It was a night he’ll never forget!”

The rants, on the other hand, often describe careless, rude, or unscrupulous deeds or situations. A rant caught my eye recently: “To the guy in the VW who flipped me the bird, mouthed obscenities through the glass and then sped off when I was knocking on his window to let him know his tire was flat.”

Who knows why the driver reacted as he did. He may have been frightened, surprised, or embarrassed. He may have thought he was caught doing something naughty. He may have been having a lousy day and the knock on his window put him over the edge (if that’s the case, the dawning awareness of a flat tire a short time later can’t have added to the day’s enjoyment). But how sad it is that the first reaction some people have to unexpected contact by strangers is to strike out at the individual.

Road Rage

We’ve all heard of road rage precipitated by a honking horn when someone fails to notice the light has turned green. A tap on the horn is a kindness under those circumstances, one to be responded to with a wave of thanks as the driver proceeds through the light. Too often it initiates an angry gesture, a curse, or even a brandished weapon.

For those reasons, we are often wary. I’ve seen lines of cars patiently waiting through two green lights for the oblivious driver to notice that the light has changed (this is Seattle, remember, we are boundlessly courteous). Rather than honk, I once saw a man get out of his car and politely tap on the driver’s window of the car ahead. For his effort, he was rewarded with an unkind gesture and screech of tires as the driver shot through the now-yellow light. I’m sure the driver was embarrassed, but what is it about embarrassment that makes some of us lash out.

Embarrassment

Embarrassment is part of the human experience. It’s also what makes us human, whether an unzipped fly, a broccoli-adorned tooth, or a verbal gaffe. It happens. We’ve all been there. To not risk embarrassment is to shun human contact entirely. It seems to me that grace is the ideal response to those embarrassing moments. More broadly, though, isn’t grace the best response to almost anything?

I hope the driver who knocked on the window of the VW isn’t deterred from doing so the next time s/he thinks a stranger would want to know what s/he has noticed.

And I hope we all (myself most definitely included) can learn to react with grace when someone tries to help us.

“He who sows sparingly will reap sparingly, and he who sows bountifully will reap bountifully.” (St. Paul)

A Year of Living Kindly

adventures in trying to live a life of kindness

Tag Archives: Accepting Kindness