a two-in-one

against niceness

I’ve thought, talked, and written endlessly about my values. It’s meaningless, though, to claim that I value objectively good things, like generosity or kindness or curiosity. It’s in the tradeoffs that I’ve learned the most about myself. My friend, Tiffany, initially brought up the tension between loyalty and authenticity—what do you do when staying loyal to someone prevents you from staying true to yourself? Today, I’m thinking about the tension between niceness (not to be confused with kindness) and authenticity.

Authenticity, integrity, kindness, and curiosity are my highest values. Above all, I believe in standing for something—at the risk of sounding trite—that you believe in, even if it means sacrificing social capital. I recognize, of course, that the easy (good?) life might be to accept the world and all its people without critical thought, to float through your days as the unconditionally innocuous one, nice and inoffensive and diplomatic in every scenario, to every person you meet. But wouldn’t it be self-indulgent and potentially cowardly too?

Niceness can be antithetical to kindness. When we choose to sit quietly while someone behaves in a harmful or unjust way, it’s serves to protect our personal reputation and no one and nothing else. Hasn’t history shown us this over and over again? I believe in protecting your own peace, but sometimes, the stakes are greater than your little life.

Niceness can be a red herring for kindness. The adage, “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all” is meant for children, not adults with the ability to grasp complexities and nuances. Niceness, by itself, is empty. Niceness holds no weight, has no roots beneath the pond’s surface, nothing to sustain it and no substance to offer those around it.

We falsely conflate kindness with niceness, believing that kindness manifests in polite company and hollow offerings—the “how can I help?” and “I’m sorry you feel that way!” that drift away without a trace.

In 2021, a viral tweet juxtaposed west vs. east coast in the niceness vs. kindness paradigm.

When I describe East Coast vs West Coast culture to my friends I often say "The East Coast is kind but not nice, the West Coast is nice but not kind," and East Coasters immediately get it. West Coasters get mad.

In the 3,000+ responses, every possible dimension is explored, from social to political:

New Yorkers will not say a single nice word for 15 minutes, whole time they’re shoveling your car out of the snow for you

My go to is “In NY nobody wants to be your friend until you need a coat or a couch. In CA everybody wants to be your friend until you need a coat or a couch.” People just get it.

I think a lot about the concept of the say:do ratio—the ratio of what you say to what you do—and I can live without platitudes and performative empathy. What I need are down ass bitches who show up for me (and keep me in check). In return, I can’t promise that I’ll always be agreeable, but I can promise you that you say the word, I’ll be there in whatever way you need.

As I’ve gotten older, the question is less and less, “is it nice?,” but “is it true?” and “is it right?” and, yes, “is it kind?”

becoming solid again

Springtime two years ago, I overflowed with anxiety. I woke up to incessant reports of attacks on Asian Americans. I grieved my maternal grandfather, who left this earth without a farewell. I wrote poems like:

I wake up mute.
my mouth swallowed by gunshot wounds, my eyes
eclipsed by the faces of mothers and
their motherless sons.

I wonder about his next incarnation, if we’ll know each other when we meet. I wonder if he can see me crying into this godless air, imagining the sweet relief of scissors and kitchen knives and highway trucks. Let’s stay together, suspended between two kingdoms. 

I wonder where my heart is and whether sorrow is earthbound.

I didn’t know how to live anymore, how to be. How do I make peace with the reality of this world while still believing in it? How can I show kindness while still holding onto accountability? How do I fill my life with light while fighting a long darkness? How can I be gentle and fierce at once?

One of the many realizations I’ve had in my relationship with Tom is that I seem to be hardwired to resist happiness (spoiler alert: he is not). My theory is that I’m so habituated to seeking that I’ve come to equate contentment with complacency, stillness with settling; I’m so intent on control, that I anticipate danger in uncertainty. This has been my way of life for as long as I can remember, and for much of that time, it’s served me. But that way of life is getting stale—it’s almost undignified to want so much when you already have so much, isn’t it?

Lately, though, I’ve been happy—despite myself and despite a rockier-than-ever start to 2023 (some day, I’ll write about that). I’ve been so happy that I’ve come off of my anti-anxiety medication after three long years, heralding the end of a remarkable chapter.

There’s still so much of life that remains unknown; I can’t say I know where my life is going, where I’ll be next year, never mind in five years. But I can say that I have an incredible certainty in the things that matter. As David Foster Wallace said, “you get to decide what to worship.” I know, now, what I choose to worship. Living my highest values and staying in integrity. The life that Tom and I are creating. Surrounding myself with love. Spending time with only those who inspire me, energize me, who enable my growth and show me emotional generosity. Moving through the world purposefully. Paying attention to the right things.

In the same way that I’m intentional about living my highest values, I’m deliberate now, about who and what I welcome into my life. There’s a solidity in the things that matter—and in me too now. The rest of it is noise.