The problem with random acts of kindness

This post relates to my post from yesterday in some ways. 

I just read a fascinating article from Psychology Today (https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/insight-therapy/202012/designed-be-kind-why-we-are-more-social-selfish) and it made me really think about the family squabbles around caring for my Uncle Ken.

Kindness to one another- especially in grief- should be simple, but as this Psychology Today article examines, perhaps the trouble lies in the fact that we celebrate the “random acts” more than normalize kindness as the expectation or standard. I’d recommend reading the entire piece (link above), but a few quotes that stood out for me:

“Research has found that people may be more likely to reciprocate kindness when they can rule out a strategic motive.”

Have you ever had a boss or colleague say something nice to you and then immediately wonder what the ulterior motive was? How awful that we have come to question kindness when extended...is that our Western culture? 

The article goes on to say that “...cutthroat, suspicious, and selfish cultural norms can effectively overwhelm the kindness process.”

So because we expect the opposite consistently from others, we are dubious when met with kindness. 

What does this do for the grief process? And what does this do to humanity? 

The article concludes with the following: 

The psychologist Lee Rowland of the University of Oxford offers the following summary: “The beauty of kindness is that it is open to anyone. We can all opt to choose kindness if we wish. It is free, easily accessible to rich and poor alike, and is universally understood. Thus, if it turns out that simple acts of everyday kindness can send ripple effects of wellbeing through society, then promoting and facilitating that has to be a constructive pursuit.”

My question for you as we close in on 2021: what can you do to kickstart the normalization of KINDNESS, and walk toward authentic care for oneself and one another? 

Humans can be awful, but it’s not always our fault

My uncle died this morning. 

Uncle Ken grew up with developmental delays due to Cerebral Palsy and I never really felt like I knew him that well. While this is certainly sad, I’m not shocked or overcome with emotion. 

My dad is the oldest in his family so once his parents died, I think he felt a paternal need to care for Ken, enrich his life, etc. Over the past few years, my dad has had a number of unfortunate familial battles that I think really stem from the fact that he wanted certain things for Ken, and his younger siblings who were PoA (& closer geographically) wanted other things. I have to believe that there wasn’t anything malicious or mal-intentioned, but communication was difficult and people did things that would be hard to forgive. Money, illness, responsibility, and grief took over and I think the humans involved veered off course. 

And now with Ken’s death, I don’t see easy paths toward healing in my extended family. I feel horribly for my dad. I know he’ll feel this deeply and wish there was a way for me to help from afar. 

For now, I think there is only remembering Ken. The best way I know to do that would be to share a film my brother-in-law Lee made with Ken a number of year’s ago, titled Where’s Your Bobber: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mI6VeaMWgl8

If you watch it, I hope you’ll enjoy my family’s silliness and remember that although humans can be awful, maybe it has more to do with our individual reactions to circumstances, like grief, rather than who we are at the core. Kind of like losing your bobber while fishing. 

Humanizing management

 Gianpiero Petriglieri has written a beautifully important piece for the Harvard Business Review entitled "Make Space for Grief After a Year of Loss"... you can find it here: https://hbr.org/2020/12/make-space-for-grief-after-a-year-of-loss

What leapt out at me was the discussion of making room for loss in the workplace and being more human as a manager. 

About eight weeks ago, I was at the end of my rope... the world's news was getting to me, grief was heavy, work was not feeling satisfactory, and conflict seemed to be everywhere. I decided that rather than taking time off for my mental health in a more private way, I wanted to tell my staff what I was doing and express why. 

I honestly have no idea how this decision and discussion landed for them... but I made a conscious effort to model the behaviour I hope they can take on for themselves. I wanted them to know that on that particular day, I was not at my best, and I knew it. I wanted them to know that I support their mental health. I wanted to express that I hoped our team could be authentic and supportive of one another. And above all, I wanted my 'down' moment to create space for not being ok. 

Transcribing the last paragraph of Gianpiero's HBR article here: 

    For managers to make room for loss, however, they must brave a loss of their own: of principles and prescriptions that have long oriented them. By turning from the future to the present, from a sparked imagination to a held heart, from confidence to care, a manager can help us regain our footing and, slowly, some hope. Letting those old prescriptions go, I have written before, might help us to humanize management. Likewise these months in which we have lost each other might end up humanizing work.

If it reminds us that we need space to share and soothe our grief, remoteness might even bring us closer. That might be a hopeful ending for a year of loss. 

“Tell me about your person”

I’ve been reflecting on a panel discussion I moderated last week at a virtual conference. The panel was made up of two widows and a widower, all of whom offered their stories and advice to fundraisers in how to approach and interact (with empathy) with grieving donors. I’m fairly certain that I learned as much from the panel as any of the attendees. 

Holly, one of the panelists shared a personal story and a brilliant piece of advice. She spoke about interacting with people in a networking situation and people she knew not really understanding how to interact with her after her wife’s death. Then, at this same event, being in conversation whom she’d just met, who said the magic words “tell me about her”. Holly expressed that the interest and words were so authentic that she felt seen/heard for the first time that evening. This interaction obviously didn’t take any of the pain away, but it did allow Holly to share stories of her wife, Julia. I wonder if the other individual in this conversation knew what a gift he’d provided to Holly...

“Tell me about your person”... seems so easy doesn’t it?