On a recent podcast, Kari and I discussed the essence of being kind.  The conversation was inspired by an encounter I had with a monger of Sasquatch lore during a walk about Portland.

 Since the pod’s publication, there has been a steady stream of comments and side conversations with fellow lost-pilgrims about the distinction between being “nice” and being “kind.”

Some themes have surfaced. 

The first, which both Kari and I related to, is that for much of our lives we were told that the words were synonymous. 

The second, is that the simple suggestion of a distinction between “nice” and “kind” is at least intriguing, if not instructive to life.

 Finally, there is a matrix of practical inspiration for a “kind” life (I’ll respond to that briefly at the end of these musings.)

. . . . .

 At first glance the word “nice” and the word “kind” seems similar.  In fact, when I open my thesaurus to the word “nice”, sure enough “kind” is one of the first synonyms listed. 

However, the reverse is not true.  When I look up “kind”, “nice” is nowhere to be found. 

The etymology (the study of word origins) of “nice” is instructive.  Nice comes from two old French roots:  “no” and “know” (those French are so ironic.)  It therefore originally meant: “ignorant”, “uniformed”, “foolish” and also implies “to ignore” as in “to not know or want to know.” 

Think about the implications of that when discussing “nice” in the context of human interaction.  What are the implications when standing in the line at the supermarket, skirting around the city or standing at the entrance to church?  Am I being “nice”:  uniformed, ignorant, without wanting to know.”  Sure my engagements may appear cordial, but are they only “nice”?

 The history of “kind” is, as you might guess, quite different.

“Kind” is linked to words like affectionate, compassionate and friend-like.  It also implies the “sense that one is related somehow to the other” or “familial” like the English word “kin.”  It can also be used to communicate solidarity in a word like “humankind.”

“Kind” appears to imply that, no matter who the other person is, I treat them like beloved family.  It is like the ancient story of the prophet who was asked to acknowledge his mother and brothers and in response, he surprised by pointing to the crowd all around him, “These are my mothers and these are my brothers.”

. . . . .

 When I met the monger of Sasquatch lore (listen here), I committed within myself to not lie to him. 

I wanted to say, “I have somewhere I have to be,” but that would have been a lie.  I in fact only had places I preferred to be.  I wanted to tell him that “I did not have time to speak at that moment,” and though it was true that I was in the middle of an essential conversation with my creative partner, the truth of the matter is, I had twenty minutes for a passionate stranger.

 I had twenty minutes to listen intently.

 I had twenty minutes to ask honest questions.

 I certainly had twenty minutes to ask his name and try to understand his passion.

 Truth be told, I have twenty minutes to spare most of the time.

 When walking around the world, we constantly encounter people who believe differently than we do, worship differently, prioritize differently and yes, vote differently.

 When someone tells us what they believe (be it in God, in veganism, in Obama, in CrossFit or in the Sasquatch), they are sharing a piece of themselves.

 Beliefs are secret doorways into another person’s world.  When we allow someone to open those doorways, we get a blockbuster movie of hopes, passions, goals, meaning, values, community and much, much more.

 “Nice” is a nice word.  It supports a functional encounter.  It’s the sort of word that keeps the trains running on time… 

 But people aren’t trains.

 Here’s to pointing to a world of as-of-yet-unmet strangers and saying, “These are my mothers and these are my brothers.”