A Theory of Kindness: My Birthday Post

It’s my birthday today. My wonderful fiancé has a surprise evening planned for me, and I am truly giddy with excitement for tonight.

But, until then, it’s a normal day—I’m working, writing, thinking, as I continue my research and daily work commitments. It’s that last one that tickles my soul though…it’s not a normal day, right? So, I decided to post a few reflective thoughts. Another year alive has probably brought a touch more cynicism—that's to be expected, I guess—but my added year of life has also led me to believe, more than ever, in the power of kindness.

Kindness: it doesn’t mean less diligent, it doesn’t mean weak, it doesn’t mean idealistic. It’s a word about ethics, about disposition, about virtue. People who understand and practice kindness are the essence of true strength—they have the power to control their minds in work or at home, the wisdom to recognize the impact of kindness in stressful situations, the humility to let it seep into their emotions during memorable life moments.

A few months ago, I was picking up a loaf of bread—a delicious whole wheat quinoa loaf!—at this great French bakery by our apartment. I stop by semi-frequently, and, I suppose, enough to recognize some of the employees. It was late in the evening, and I was pretty tired from my day. I walked in, and one of the employees behind the counter predictably said: “Hi, how are you? What can I get you?” And I replied instinctively, without thinking: “I’m good, thanks, how are you?” followed by a pause. The employee gave a subtle, but noticeable, look of bewilderment. He then said: “Oh! I remember you—you are the person who always comes in, and asks us how we are, and then waits for us to answer.” He then goes and tells his co-worker that this is the guy who is always so kind—she turns around, smiles, and recognizes me—and he continues to tell me how no one actually waits for him to answer, and how much he appreciates it. We small talked for a second, he placed my bread in the slice machine (and also gave me a complimentary dessert!), I paid, and walked back home. It was the best compliment I had received in a very, very long time. But I did not do anything special—it was just kindness working its magic within the confines of the most routine, everyday action and interaction.

One of the websites I really love to read—when I have the time—is a blog called “Wait But Why.” The author generally picks topics that are often abstract, if not mundane, and breaks them down in rational ways. In his post about the life-spans of humans, he created a visual representation of a long human lifespan of 90 years. And, when, breaking it down by weeks, he writes:

"Sometimes life seems really short, and other times it seems impossibly long. But this chart helps to emphasize that it’s most certainly finite. Those are your weeks and they’re all you’ve got.

Given that fact, the only appropriate word to describe your weeks is precious. There are trillions upon trillions of weeks in eternity, and those are your tiny handful.”

You can read the rest of his post here about comparing the weeks of our lives to precious gems—it’s quite fascinating, if not eye-opening (and also a bit scary, too!). But, taking to heart his point about making the best use of our weeks, I think about how a theory of kindness helps us to do this. In fact, kindness is one of the most practical and significant characteristics in making each year great—and making each day, yes, precious. I think about how kindness contributes to my own self-happiness, such as feelings of personal joy with exhibiting kindness with friends and family, whether that a gift, or a simple smile or hug. I think about how kindness contributes to business success, such as how my brother, CEO of a large fashion company, shows kindness to his employees, which increases their morale and productivity. I think about how kindness can turn mundane moments into memorable moments for people in routine situations, such as my encounter with the employee at the bakery. I think the kindness shown by one of my mentors, that, no matter the situation, will find a way to inspire that student in a way that brings out the best in him/her. And, I think about how kindness is the greatest indicator of meaningful, lasting relationships: the people in our lives who bring us down, who show negativity, will eventually fade away, but the people who are kind—in all facets of life—are those who we remember and who help make our lives precious.

So, be kind today and everyday. Kindness is a trait; it is both inherent but also, I believe, learned and practiced. I hope, one (far away!) day from now, when I am no longer celebrating birthdays, that I will be remembered as someone kind—like my grandpa, like my mom, like my brother, like some my co-workers and mentors, and so many other people in my life. I thank you for your kindness, and I promise to continue my pursuit of lasting kindness, too.

With love,

-Barry

P.S. I'll leave you with one of my favorite poems, about education, about fatherhood, about kindness, that my beloved English teacher shared with me almost a decade ago.

September, The First Day Of School by Howard Nemerov

My child and I hold hands on the way to school,
And when I leave him at the first-grade door
He cries a little but is brave; he does
Let go. My selfish tears remind me how
I cried before that door a life ago.
I may have had a hard time letting go.

Each fall the children must endure together
What every child also endures alone:
Learning the alphabet, the integers,
Three dozen bits and pieces of a stuff
So arbitrary, so peremptory,
That worlds invisible and visible

Bow down before it, as in Joseph's dream
The sheaves bowed down and then the stars bowed down
Before the dreaming of a little boy.
That dream got him such hatred of his brothers
As cost the greater part of life to mend,
And yet great kindness came of it in the end.

A school is where they grind the grain of thought,
And grind the children who must mind the thought.
It may be those two grindings are but one,
As from the alphabet come Shakespeare's Plays,
As from the integers comes Euler's Law,
As from the whole, inseperably, the lives,

The shrunken lives that have not been set free
By law or by poetic fantasy.
But may they be. My child has disappeared
Behind the schoolroom door. And should I live
To see his coming forth, a life away,
I know my hope, but do not know its form

Nor hope to know it. May the fathers he finds
Among his teachers have a care of him
More than his father could. How that will look
I do not know, I do not need to know.
Even our tears belong to ritual.
But may great kindness come of it in the end.

The Unwritten Words

Yesterday was the one-year anniversary of my grandfather's passing. I saw his tombstone for the first time.

His epitaph, like that of many others (although, few are fortunate enough to experience 90 years of life), read: BELOVED HUSBAND, FATHER, GRANDFATHER & GREAT GRANDFATHER. Nestled beside the small bronzed plaque engraved with "VETERAN, U.S. MILITARY," those five simple words chiseled in stone say so much yet so little about him.

My grandfather, or my "PaPa" as I called him, was indeed all those things. Just as I echoed during his eulogy that I read a year ago, he was a man who was content to love, and be loved, by his family and friends. Although family was certainly a key avenue through which he found meaning in life, inevitably, he was also far more then those six engraved words.

Of course, those essential descriptors to his life—to all of our lives—are still fitting. They are what we want to be judged by: we want to be loving mothers and fathers, successful professionals, and trustworthy friends. I certainly strive to be each of these things, although not without my own faults.

But as I read those few words yesterday, staring at his stone for the first time, I could not help but imagine what words would come after those engraved ones, in all their eternal permanence. These unwritten words: the words that are not read, are not seen, and that few remember. I then thought about myself, about my actions, about the world, and about the unwritten words that would not be emblazoned on my own epitaph one day, but that, I hope, might also define my existence, even if it’s only in an ethereal manner. I hope they would say that I was kind, caring, and loving; that I was trustworthy, responsible, and loyal; that I was all these things not just to those that I loved, and loved me, but to my advisers, colleagues, acquaintances, and maybe most of all, complete strangers.

It’s a simple concept, of course, and the opposite of profound, as we hear a similar refrain constantly: “be a good person,” quotes about random acts of kindness, or stories about people doing anonymous nice deeds. These are all wonderful, if not idealistic, sentiments—and I certainly try to live my life by these mantras. But let’s be honest: life is hard, and ignoring the day-to-day struggles would be inauthentic. It’s tough enough navigating the many hardships that exist within our daily lives, let alone nationally and globally. Not all of us have the money to donate funds, or the time to volunteer, or, admittedly, the will or desire to do either. And, you know, that’s okay. We are so rightly focused on making sure that the written words—about being a family member or friend and developing a career—come to fruition that we don’t have the ability (or the energy) to do the extracurricular.

Our society’s collective idea of what makes a person great has been so simplified and materialized. We are constantly bombarded by slogans that objectify a person’s civic duty as being so black and white. Those that donate money to charity or volunteer, for example, are applauded while those who don’t are not. These selfless acts, while seemingly unwritten, are, to some extent, still recorded in history and remembered in society—he or she was a “philanthropist” or “activist” or the more chic “social entrepreneur.” To be clear, I deeply admire people who fit these descriptions, and I sincerely hope that I will one day be described as such. The idea of helping those less fortunate is a beautiful thing, and for me personally, it brings meaning and sense of purpose to my life—just as it did for my late grandfather and all of my living grandparents, all whom have donated both ample time and money to various causes over many decades.

These generous actions certainly make us good. But do these actions alone make us great?

That’s why to me, the most noble acts of “goodness” are sometimes the ones that seem the hardest to grasp and the most difficult to recognize—these unwritten words. Words that describe actions that often go unnoticed and unappreciated: namely, treating all people with kindness, love, and respect during the most obscure moments of life. Frankly, treating a stranger with kindness on a bad day can sometimes be harder then writing a check and walking away—it requires a great deal of humility, patience, perseverance (we all do have bad days!), and most of all, an inner sense of love and compassion.

The people I admire most in this world are not only the philanthropists who donate the most money or the activists who spend most time volunteering—although, again, I do admire them and like to think that I could humbly include myself in these categories one day—but those who are consciously kind, even when it’s hard and when you know that moment in time will evaporate. For example, my brother, a successful businessman, who treats all of his employees with respect and fairness, no matter their role in the company. My two professors, extremely successful and in-demand scholars, who treat all of their students with kindness, down from their most established research fellows to random high school students on the street. My mother, who, no matter the time or day, so easily flashes a smile and befriends every person she meets from the bank teller, to the waiter, not out of pretentiousness but out of genuine love.

My grandfather was a good man because he was a loving family member and friend, and because he was so charitable, spending his life donating his time (he didn’t have any money!) to the elderly and the sick literally everyday. That much is true—recorded, written, in the legacy through his family offspring and the tangible lives he improved through his charitable actions. But he was great because he treated everyone with kindness, everyday, all the time, despite his own personal hardships. To me, that’s the testament of true greatness.

So let us all be great. And let us all be conscious of the unwritten words that describe us—how we live when nobody else is looking or listening, the conversations we have with people that will never be recorded, and the actions we perform that will never make it on our tombstone, but define us, the living, in the present, each and every day.  

Welcome to the (re)launch of my new blog!

Hello to all the beautiful people near and far,

It's been a while. Much too long, in fact. I haven't blogged in well over a year and a half, and my, a lot has changed in both my personal and academic life. Academically--and dare I say "professionally"--I have now completed my first year as a doctoral student and research fellow at Columbia University and Teachers College's Institute for Urban and Minority Education (IUME), respectively. I have a clear(er) view of my historical scholarship and have successfully navigated my second year of directing the Youth Historians program, which has been a great success driven by a group of extremely talented and inquisitive high school students. Personally, I've lost a loved one in my family, have emotionally internalized that I am now a New Yorker, and have admittedly become just a pinch less idealistic (but certainly not cynical), although, I guess this latter point is to be expected as I continue my ever-going maturation of life. But, I'm just as hopeful as ever for the future--the youth I interact with daily assure me that if we can help guide students in ways that are empowering and culturally relevant, yet rigorous and intellectually stimulating (if we treat students like the scholars they can be), then anything is possible.

Blog posts will be consistently infrequent--does that make sense?--and I look forward to sharing my thoughts and reflections when I can. Many of the blogs, appropriately, will focus on education, but I'll will also write about life, love, humanity, society, and everything in between. (I've posted two older blogs from 2012 and 2014 to archive for new and old readers, so please feel free to read them below.) Of course, education intersects with all these things, and so although certain blogs may seem like digressions, most likely, if you (and I), look deep enough, we'll find threads that are relevant to education.

Thanks for stopping by and reading--and I look forward to your comments. It is immensely humbling for you to take time out of life's very-real busyness to read my writing, and I don't take that lightly.

In good health,

-Barry