TRANSCRIPT

I’m Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown.

Maybe you’ve heard the phrase “Midwest nice,” or the more specific “Minnesota nice.” As someone born and raised in the Midwest, I have to admit something: I’ve never been quite sure what this means.

I think of Midwesterners as friendly, warm, and hardworking, and I’d like to think that, on balance, we’re welcoming and helpful to both friends and strangers alike. But “Midwest nice,” as it turns out, isn’t much of a compliment. Midwest Nice is sometimes described as being passive-aggressive — being polite on the surface, in public, while privately harboring unkind thoughts. Oof.

If I’m honest, there is some of that in the Midwest. But isn’t there some of that everywhere? Humans can be prickly, or judgmental, or envious. They can also deeply desire approval. Humans are, well, human!

Considering regionality and niceness made me think more about the difference between niceness and kindness. Niceness involves not ruffling feathers, making waves or drawing too much attention to yourself. Niceness can be a step toward kindness, which is investing more fully in the happiness and well-being of others.

Wherever you live, you don’t have to be nice. But please be kind. We need more genuine, altruistic kindness in this world.

So, how can you be more kind? By helping others without being performative about it, and without needing recognition. By letting people know you’re thinking of them, by reaching out when you know someone is struggling, and by practicing simple acts of kindness: holding a door open, letting someone go ahead of you in line, offering a sincere compliment.

And one more thing: You can take in the wisdom of today’s poem and pass it along.

Kindness
by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth. 
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop, 
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho 
lies dead by the side of the road. 
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. 
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore, 
only kindness that ties your shoes
and send you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head 
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for, 
and then goes with you everywhere 
like a shadow or a friend.

"Kindness" by Naomi Shihab Nye. Used by permission of the poet.