Being kind is a daily, revolutionary, existential struggle
and worth it
I’m the type of person who could publish an essay about kindness and, an hour later, honk and curse after someone cuts me off in traffic.
When it comes to kindness, I am like the closeted Catholic priests I used to hang out with at the gay bar: a hypocrite, a sinner, someone who struggles with meeting my own standards.
Take last weekend. My son, partner, and I were at a diner on a quiet Sunday morning. When I got the bill, I noticed a few odd charges — a Diet Coke we never ordered and an extra credit card fee. I flagged down the owner. I wasn’t rude, but I wasn’t exactly friendly either. I hadn’t slept well and my tone reflected it. When the manager got defensive, I got annoyed. “I feel nickeled and dimed,” I said. She bristled.
By the time we left, I was simmering with Karen-level indignation, mentally composing a one-star review. “It wasn’t about the money; it was the way she handled it,” I told myself. But deep down, I knew my anger wasn’t about her. I was annoyed at inflation. Why does a simple breakfast for three cost more than $50?
On the drive home, I glanced at my 7-year-old in the rearview mirror. “Did I overreact?” I asked.
He nodded. “Small problem, small reaction. Like water off a duck’s back, remember?”
Touché. I’d been teaching him to let the little things go, and now he was throwing my own words back at me. The irony stung.
“Should I apologize?” I asked. He nodded again.
Taking two deep breaths, I touched the CarPlay screen, called the restaurant, and asked for the owner. “Hi,” I said. “I think I owe you an apology….”
The incident reminded me of one of my most cliche but important rules for living: Being kind. Life is so much better, so much more magical, when I am in a kind state of being. When I’m not, it’s worse. Simple as that.
Being kind is a daily, revolutionary, existential struggle.
By “kind,” I mean embodying friendliness, care, and compassion. Unlike “niceness,” which often emphasizes surface-level politeness and agreeability in a specific cultural context, kindness is deeper, universal, and rooted in our essence. Kindness is first and foremost a state of being. It is an ontology shaping how we perceive and engage with the world. Actions and attitudes flow from it.
When I’m being kind, I exist in a state of open-heartedness, which makes it easier to be more present, joyful, and genuinely considerate. When I’m not, my worst impulses rear their heads. I want to argue some stupid point, judge people uncharitably, or raise my voice when my kid misbehaves.
Some days it feels like a thousand spiders are trying to trap me in their webs of stress: nasty online comments, junk food, political anxiety, family drama — you name it. If I let the spiderwebs trap me, the spiders will gradually march into my soul, colonize, and turn it into rot. I will numb myself into oblivious or let bitterness take over. I’ll become a dad on autopilot, a guy who doesn’t like himself, a case of spiritual suicide. I don’t want any of those things! Thus, fighting for kindness is fighting for my soul. Lose the battle, and I’ll be the male cliche of poems and songs: a Nowhere Man, a Hollow Man, or one of the smothered-out Leaden-Eyed.
Being kind helps me see the beauty, grace, and kindness all around me. Like the other night, when I laughed with my son so hard he peed his pajamas, which made us laugh even harder. Or last Saturday evening, when I watched my underdog college football team win on a 52-yard field goal at the very last second of the game. If I were angry or numb, I’d miss these moments of connection, joy, and LIFE.
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When I’m in a kind state of being, I make unexpected connections with amazing people, as I did with
after a troll attacked him and then me; when I’m not in such a state, I miss these opportunities and make enemies. When I’m in a kind state of being, I notice the gorgeous bougainvillea next to me as I write this; when I’m not, I am in my head and oblivious to the world. When I’m in a kind state of being, I turn the school carline into something joyful by letting my son pick a theme song for the day (lately “Bones” by Imagine Dragons); when I’m not, I get aggravated by the wait time.
Achieving a state of kindness is a daily and imperfect struggle. I’m embarrassed to admit how hard it is for me at times because it seems like a low bar. Cultivating kindness feels like having to tend a fire that I can never let burn out. I constantly have to feed it wood and protect it from the wind. My “wood” is sleep, exercise, gratitude, time in nature, fellowship, and a good book. My “wind protection” is setting boundaries on things that push me off balance, like drinking too much. Four years ago this month, I took a timeout from alcohol and have stayed dry for an entire election cycle.
The daily struggle to be kind is a form of rebellion — a revolution. Being kind is my Rebel Alliance against the Evil Empire of numbness, bitterness, and colorlessness; my repellent against the thousand spiders that want to conquer my soul; my resistance movement to middle-aged malaise and “Death of a Salesman” despair. Smiling at the barista, yielding in traffic, and nodding at a passerby are small acts of defiance against creeping, consuming forces of darkness, numbness, and inhumanity. As former Czech President Vaclav Havel put it in 1990, during the fall of communism, “The salvation of this human world lies nowhere else than in the human heart.” He knew that spiritual revolution — Velvet Revolution — began from within.
I haven’t been back to that diner yet. But when I do, I intend to smile warmly at the owner, reiterate my apology, and enjoy chocolate-chip pancakes with my son. If I have to fake it a little, pay more than I’d like, or swallow my pride, then so be it.
Because the struggle to be kind is worth it. There is no alternative if I want to be the man and dad I want to me; if I want to squeeze the lemon of life and sip the sweet and sour nectar; if I want to flourish as a human. It is an existential, revolutionary struggle, even if I’m not always good at it. Viva la revolución!
Special thanks to for amazing draft feedback.
Related essays:
‘Small problem, small reaction.’ This is a great framing.
One more act of kindness: to refrain from calling people ‘Karens.’ It isn’t kind to namecall anyone.
Better to call them (or yourself at that moment) entitled or rude.
I resonate with this so much! Kindness takes every bit of being intentional.
Every time I catch myself silently judging someone in my head, I make it a point to find one thing I like about them. It's helping me treat people kinder and with more love.