Being Nice is a Good Thing---Isn't It?

I’ve always said that I’m not a deep thinker. But I recently saw an episode of Blue Bloods that got me thinking.

I kind of consider myself a “goodie two shoes.” I don’t do things on purpose that would make people mad at me. In fact, I consider myself a “people pleaser.” I like people and I want people to like me. I don’t think that’s wrong. I’m a fixer and a helper. You have a problem---I can help solve it. I like helping people. I consider myself nice.

That leads me to an email I got from my sister, Jeanne today. She mentioned that I am the “friendly one.” Yes, that’s true. I zipped an email back to her saying, “that’s why people invite me to their parties!” That’s true too. I try to make a point of talking to people I don’t know. I give my friends a hard time for just sticking together in their own little group at a party while I flit around. Actually, I have a confession to make. It’s a little deeper than just being friendly. I think it might be more of an egotistical act. I think to myself, “I want these people to think that (whoever is giving the party) has some really nice friends”. That’s it. I try to be nice. Aren’t we all taught to “be nice?” You don’t have to like everybody, but you have to “be nice.” Here’s the thing: I want everybody to like me, so I’m nice. I guess that applies to strangers too.

Case in point: today at the post office, I had one of those moments where I, once again was aggravated about people, not being prepared and taking too much time at the counter while the line just continued out the door. Then, a lady got out her check book. That reminded me that someone paid with a check yesterday too. Who does that? It takes so much longer than just swiping a card. Of course, I don’t let my frustration show in public---I just complain later to my friends and here on my blog. That doesn’t sound very nice. But it’s the truth. In my head, I’m not always nice.

When I was finally ready to leave, a lady was coming in. I smiled at her and held the door. She said, “Excuse me, have you ever mailed a singing birthday card?” For a second, I thought maybe it was a trick or I might win a prize for the right answer. Honestly, as I racked my brain to recall if I had, indeed, ever mailed a singing card, she quickly filled in, “I mean, does it require extra postage?” Then I realized that to her I must have looked like someone that worked at the post office. No, that couldn’t be it. They don’t smile. It was just because I was nice. Continuing my “nice” streak, I told her that if the card was larger than a quarter of an inch thick, or weighed more than one ounce, it would cost extra. Then it hit me. Heck, I could work at the post office. And I bet I could make it more efficient too.

You just never know where being nice could lead you. And come to think of it, I have nice friends too. 

I’ve always said that I just want it to say on my tombstone---“she was nice.” I think that would be a good thing.