Kindness as a Strategy
My siblings and I fought over the chance to do chores for our grandfather. In the whole of Shell Valley, he was the only one who paid well. He also owned one of the early push-assist lawn mowers, something that fascinated us as much as the first-generation robot vacuum my grandmother favored. (It left a lot to be desired but was fun to watch, and I now understand my genetic disposition for finding innovative and efficient solutions to mundane tasks and problems.)
One summer morning, luck was mine. I got to spend the night at my grandparents, sans feral siblings and their attention-attracting abilities. Even better fortune came my way when my grandfather, rather than my “thrifty” grandmother, asked if I’d like to try the new lawnmower, which meant I’d get a crisp $5 bill instead of the crumpled two singles my grandmother paid for chores.
The lawnmower weighed about twice what I did, but I worked to keep my face still as Grandfather went over the operating instructions. I was unwilling to forfeit my chance for a five spot because I felt intimidated.
“Just be sure you don’t run over any of the sprinkler heads,” Grandfather said, as he patted me kindly and walked away from the engine noise.
Within thirty minutes I learned that the lawnmower could indeed sever a steel sprinkler head as easily as a dandelion’s. When the sound of the mower stopped, my grandfather came and found me, tears and shame on my face, trying desperately to figure out a way to mend the mess.
“Don’t worry about that at all,” he said. “That can be fixed. You’re strong, but that lawnmower is just too heavy. Can you help me get some things out of the garden?”
I can still feel that physical relief in every atom of my body as I think about my grandfather nearly 40 years later. It’s such a remarkable thing, to be surprised by kindness and understanding when you expect to be criticized or humiliated.
Maya Angelou said it best: “People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But they will never forget how you made them feel.”
In our effort to do more, be more, get more, we’ve become enamored with cutting-edge technology. But while it’s made many jobs easier and often increases personal efficiency, it’s also led to a steep drop in basic human decency. With the increased efficiency comes a loss of personal contact. We shop online, we send emails to colleagues instead of walking down the hall, we catch up with friends on Facebook instead of the front porch. We have fewer and fewer opportunities to just “be nice.” And like our physical muscles require repeated work to stay strong, human capacities such as kindness also atrophy without use.
I own a busy consulting firm, and I believe we’ve been hired a few times because we were the most knowledgeable and qualified. I believe we get rehired every time because we know we can’t succeed without being kind. Don’t get me wrong; I value efficiency as an operational goal in all our projects. But efficiency does not make you stop and help someone on the side of the road. It doesn’t encourage you to let your colleague finish his or her meandering point. And it’s never included on a list of adjectives describing a beloved teacher or family member or friend.
What my grandfather taught me on that sweltering June day was pivotal. Because he extended understanding to me instead of criticism, I felt cared about and easily concluded on my own that I wasn’t yet experienced enough to do that job. By choosing to respond to my human nature instead of my competence failure, he allowed me more agency to make the “right” decision the next time. You can bet that each time I see a $5 bill, that's what I remember.
Turns out, kindness is a good strategy.
With gratitude and care,
Sara and the Becoming Jackson Whole team