Nice guys finish first. Or last? I’m not entirely sure but I’m a little biased and think that I am mostly nice. Until I’m not. Then I’m nice again. I operate from the position of nice for most of my dealings with strangers, acquaintances, friends and family. It has gotten me airline upgrades, restaurant reservations and even allowed me to cut into lines. I don’t do it to feel superior or entitled. I don’t do it to extract a disproportionate advantage and I certainly don’t expect anything in return. But generally, I feel I can catch more bees with honey. I think I’ve turned out okay. And being nice is contagious.

But I have my limits and my charm has its reach. Not everyone operates on the same wavelength as me. And as much as I am a nice guy first, the bad guy is never far behind. He comes out swing anytime I need to defend my daughter or when I encounter indignant Karens. And nice guys personas aren’t effective in some circles. Apparently, being polite, flexible and understanding are signs of weakness in some industries and lines of work. In fact, my general contractor mistook my niceness as an open door to lie and steal from me. He wasn’t the first person I sued.

Unfortunately, our society has become so increasingly divisive that even niceties are at best ignored and at worst, suspect.  Maybe I’ve become jaded, but sometimes, I don’t even bother socializing for the trouble of explaining that they’ve been mistaken. The pandemic has made it mainstream not to be social and handshakes aren’t even offered anymore. Our society has imploded and I’ve (we’ve) become less of a nice guy.

 

I take it in stride and realize that maybe the universe is telling me to slow down. Maybe the universe should mind its own damned business.

 

There is a silver lining to having a bit of rough edge. For one, I listen a lot more—up to a point. I don’t mean to sound disingenuous, but the vast majority of the time, I don’t react because many people’s opinions are neither important nor unique; it’s the same regurgitated bullshit. Another thing that’s been very therapeutic for me is I yell at inanimate objects. Often. Traffic lights that aren’t timed, slow internet or even doors that don’t stay open. I take it in stride and realize that maybe the universe is telling me to slow down. I realize also sometimes, I need to slow down. Maybe the universe should mind its own damned business.

One of the fallouts is that my daughter tells me that some of her friends find that I am too intimidating. I haven’t spoken two words to her friends! So, I can’t understand how my quiet supervision got translated to intimidation. Oh well, good. The boys should take heed. But I don’t spend too much time thinking about what others may think or say about me. I project exactly the image I want the world to see: I am nice until I am not. And just because I’m nice, it doesn’t mean I can’t or won’t be a terror. Probably the best way to describe my managed equilibrium is the way Mr. Banner keeps his Hulk in check. I’m a different person when provoked. Where I have adapted is knowing what makes me angry and having the immediate ability to call upon that edginess with immediate effect. Then until it no longer serves me, I return to being nice and neutral. For those who know me, they know my boundaries. For those who don’t, they know not to pick a fight again. And for those who keeps coming back for more. Well, like I said, different wavelengths. Their gluttony is not my problem. And I’m okay with that. My inner Hulk is not a pet. It is not an altered ego and definitely not something I suppress. It is an integral part of me. I like me and if people don’t, then that’s their problem.