Here’s my confession: I (try to) fall asleep by writing graduation speeches in my head. I acknowledge that it’s a weird habit and rarely helps put me to sleep. But here we are. 

The speech I’ve been constructing now for several weeks has this basic claim: Words matter. I was thinking, for instance, of the way we tend to decide that two words mean basically the same thing, even though they don’t. And I think the consequences of this intellectual laziness – where we decide that one word means exactly the same thing as another – can have profound consequences personally, socially, politically, etc. 

For instance, I’ve discovered that there is a fundamental difference between the words “nice” and “kind,” but we often decide that they’re the same thing or that the differences don't matter. I think that’s a grave mistake.   

For me, “niceness” is an action. Opening a door for someone in “nice.” Loaning someone a pencil or a jacket is “nice.” Giving money to charity is “nice.” And niceness often has very little to do with how we feel about the person we’re being nice to. I generally have no problem being nice to students, co-workers, strangers, or family members that I don't particularly like. Being nice is simply the action of following prescribed social rules or norms that are polite or civil. It’s not particularly hard, and it’s not particularly meaningful. 

Oxford defines nice as “pleasant; agreeable; satisfactory.” Most of us have no problem being pleasant or agreeable to people that we don't like, don't respect, or don’t ever want to see again. We simply put on our “nice” facade, smile politely, act appropriately, and move on with our day. That’s not to say that acting nice can't be a struggle. If you’ve ever had a teacher you didn't like, you know it can be a challenge to keep up the facade of niceness for nine months. It can be a struggle to be nice to irritating peers or rude strangers. But “nice” lives at the surface, and niceness can easily mask the hatred, resentment, disgust, or apathy that you really feel. While I think that we all should be nice to each other, if only to make everyone’s day a little more pleasant, I don't think niceness has a lot of intrinsic value. It’s a series of actions that anyone can take without a lot of thought and without a lot of heart. It is, at it’s best, “satisfactory.”

Kindness, on the other hand, is something far different for me. Kindness is a state of “being.” It’s primarily about the way you are, not the way you act. It’s a way of feeling, thinking, and living. I don’t think that there’s anything surface-level about kindness. Like a garden, developing kindness is something that takes time, effort, care, and nurturing. The roots of kindness must go deep. 

I think kindness requires deep inner work, and I think the garden analogy is an apt one for describing this work. For instance, to plant a garden, the first thing you need to do is to ensure that you have good soil.  At the core of kindness is the deep acknowledgment of someone else’s humanity. That’s the “soil” you need to cultivate. You have to see them as a person, as a soul. You have to see them as someone who is terribly flawed. They have weaknesses. They have insecurities. They have thoughts and regrets that keep them up at night. They don’t feel okay at times. They worry if they’re worthy of love. When we are able to see others as messy, imperfect, but ultimately good people, we have prepared a place for the roots of kindness to grow deep. 

I think one of the best ways to acknowledge someone else’s humanity is to listen. Deeply. And if you listen long enough and deeply enough, you’ll see that this other person, whether you like them or not, is simply another messy human being just like you. When I say listen deeply, I mean to listen with an empathetic ear. Put yourself in their shoes. Feel their emotions alongside them. Listen for the hurt or doubt or sadness in their voice. Listen carefully to the ways their own narrative is hindering their perceptions and progress. 

To use another analogy, when you listen, consider yourself to be a doctor. Your job is to diagnose the hurt, doubt, or sadness so that you can best treat it. It’s only once we know where the pain truly resides that we can treat someone’s deep inner pain with the medicine of kindness. For instance, if you were to go to a doctor with a knee injury, but he treats you for a cold, you’ll undoubtedly thank him for his care and for the medicine. But his treatment hasn’t helped your pain. Listen carefully so that you can treat the pain where it really lives. 

Coming back to our garden analogy, once the soil is prepared, the next step is to plant the seeds of kindness that will eventually bear fruit. We’ve got to dig even deeper in the soil to make this happen. We all need a “why.” Why are you seeking to be kind? Why are you attempting to heal others’ hurt? Why do you or should you care? 

Much like there are many different types of seeds to plant, there are many answers to these questions. You may cultivate kindness from a place of religious duty. You may cultivate kindness from some philosophical belief or personal sense of purpose. There are lots of seeds to choose from. Recently, I’ve found my “why,” and it’s the result of answering perhaps the biggest philosophical question of all: What does it mean to live a good life? The answer I have recently discovered for myself is simply this: “Give more than you take. Leave this world better than you found it.” For me, this answer to what it means to live a good life necessitates that I live a life of kindness. 

Finally, I want to make one more observation on kindness. I think kindness grows best when we have an optimistic view of the world and other people. I think kindness grows best when we assume that everyone in this life is doing the best they can, even if their words, beliefs, or actions are misguided, hurtful, or selfish. For instance, if you go to the doctor’s for a broken leg, chances are you aren’t going to be your “best self” when you’re there. You’ll be in a lot of pain. You’ll walk funny or maybe you won’t be able to walk at all, but you’re still going to hobble around the best you can. You might be cranky. All those things are a natural response to the pain of a busted leg. After all, you’re human. And you hurt. When we can look at others’ at-times unimpressive actions, words, or beliefs as a symptom of pain, instead of fundamental flaws in their character, we learn to be compassionate with others even when it’s hard. 

Being nice is…nice. It is, in fact, “satisfactory.” But being kind grows us as people. It’s the result of work and patience and nurturing. And maybe it leaves the world a little better place than we found it.