Saying Something Nice Never Cost Me Anything
by Bruce Bellingham

For Sharon Anderson

Each year, a friend of mine makes a resolution for the New Year. She says she will try to be a kinder person.
This is always beguiling because she is already the kindest person I know. I always point that out. And she always explains patiently, kindly, "It's in the trying, Bruce, that really matters. If you try to be kinder, then that's enough to be a better person."
Nothing is more irritating than a person kinder than I trying to be kinder.
I mean, enough is enough, already.
Lately I have been surrounded by kindness. My friends are compassionate people, the people at this newspaper are very nice. Even the mailman, Conrad, is a terrifically thoughtful fellow. I'm drowning in a sea of civility.
Not so fast. There are also plenty of abrasive, nasty, unkind people around for me to keep my wits about me. The government is not kind, if I can personify the government. The government can be as odious as it like, and figures no one is going to do anything about it. That's because very few of us do anything about it.
"I'll respect the government," Mark Twain says, "when it earns my respect."
Now, that's the spirit. Who's working for whom? Why are there homeless people on the streets of San Francisco? Why was the Gulf Coast virtually abandoned after Katrina? There's so much indifference in the world. It's very unkind.
The Sikhs have a saying. It goes something like, "Before you open your mouth, remember to say something that is only necessary and kind and true."
The operative word here is "and." I would be pleased with myself if I could adhere to any of those three adjectives, "necessary, kind, true."
But I am rarely pleased with myself.
My kindly friends try to remind me to be kind to myself. Allen Ginsberg reminds me: "Be kind to yourself, it is only one and perishable of many on the planet." For some reason, I rarely think I am a person that I should be kind to. My anger is often meted out to me. Why that is, I m not sure. I'm not even sure why I'm angry sometimes. Turning to St. Francis, San Francisco's patron, I can take this to heart: "It is in pardoning that we are pardoned." I'll try to take that "pardon me" a little more seriously.
Now, there's a tricky part in the message from St. Francis. Sure, it's about being kind and nice and forgiving and all that sort of thing -- but it means that you cannot expect anything in return. When I think hard about that, I have trouble thinking of an instance when I helped somebody and really, really wanted nothing for my trouble. I didn't come up with this by myself, mind you. I'm talking about nothing in return -- no dough, no thanks, no accolades, no mention in the media, no pat on the back, no murmured nicety when I'm not around. It is to expect nothing in return at all. This is very difficult and truly holy stuff.
"Be kind to the heroes that have lost their names in the newspaper," writes the poet.
So my holy friend, not so religious, just holy, who sends out and receives about 300 Christmas cards every year, is talking about being kinder in a way that is without conditions. To seek less every year, and give more.
I suppose I could try to be kind like that. "Be kind to your disappearing mother and father ..." I heard someone say the other day that her greatest hope was to be as kind as her parents were. I was astonished. I do know this: we're going to need more kindness in this coming year.
In case I fail this conviction, I'd like to apologize in advance, if you don't mind forgiving me in advance.

Bruce Bellingham interviewed Allen Ginsberg for his high school newspaper when Bruce was 14 years old. This could account for all of his Ginsberg allusions. Ans maybe illusions. Perhaps we'll forgive him for that. Let him know. His e-mail is bruce@northsidesf.com

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