When it comes describing myself, I would probably use the word “smart” before the word “kind.”
I don’t see myself as a particularly callous or cruel person; I’m just uncomfortable in social situations and not gifted (or cursed) with a natural inclination toward selflessness. I care deeply about doing right by strangers, and I want to make the world a better place in whatever ways I can.
But I get annoyed easily. I am more readily sarcastic than supportive. I get prickly after long periods of social interaction. I catch myself thinking in ways that contradict my espoused progressive views. I judge strangers far more quickly than I would hope they judge me.
I am capable of being kind. I do my best to be kind. But I don’t think I am a kind person. Not in the sense that kindness is one of my defining traits, something I would spare an adjective for in a short list of my own attributes.
In the course of writing my novel, I have used this kind of exercise occasionally: I list out each character’s traits but limit myself to four or five entries, sometimes with additional guidelines about how many of these must be negative versus positive.
Fittingly, almost none of my characters are kind enough to merit it being written in their column. Like me, they get words like “smart” and “stubborn,” but not usually “nice.”
Their identities reflect mine, of course, as their creator. But this phenomenon is also a reflection of our society and its preferences for heroes of both the fictional and real variety.
Being nice is associated with being bland. Perhaps we expect a baseline of politeness and courtesy to the extent that kindness is considered the default instead of a notable trait. But then again, most of us have interacted with enough jerks—whether they are malicious or merely oblivious—to know that kindness, especially that which extends beyond polite respect into deep empathy, is actually quite rare.
Or maybe we assume that kind people can’t be compelling protagonists. They’re easily taken advantage of; they’re too idealistic or soft, especially for a grittier world; they have a much higher threshold for conflict with their fellow characters, thus taking away some of the momentum a story would otherwise have, because conflict is story fuel; their deference to other characters can sap them of personal agency, another story-killer; the list goes on and on.
Nice people, the implication goes, are simply boring.
Which seems terribly unfair. Alienating the population that provides emotional support to the rest of us, often without expectation of reciprocation, is a bizarre punishment for kind people's tireless efforts to make the world just a little brighter.
Maybe I only perpetuate this character discrimination when I list out my own (or my characters’) qualities. I know well enough that it’s not better to be beautiful than to be kind—that kind of vapid vanity is drilled out of us by fairy tales and fables—but what about being smart instead of kind? What about determination, passion, bravery, creativity? Are any of those positive traits more important than kindness?
And at what point is nurturing other traits selfish, wasting time that could instead be used to cultivate a personality devoted to helping others? Is wanting to be smart or brave just another form of vanity?
After all, it’s not just that I would describe myself as more smart than kind because it’s an honest assessment. Even if I had a choice about my own personality, I would probably prefer being smart over being kind.
Of course, real people are more than a limited list of adjectives. Picking the “best” self-description is actually a useless exercise, considering how fluid and complex personalities can be. It’s reductive to assume that kindness is a trait that cannot exist alongside others.
Still, it’s worth thinking about how many—or rather, how few—of us would describe ourselves first and foremost as kind. Or how few of us would want to, if we had a choice.
Maybe it’s time to rethink our priorities.
