No More Mr. Nice Guy

I’m super excited to have been invited to join a blog group alongside three talented bloggers.  Each week, one of us chooses a topic and we all post a blog entry on that topic, usually on Thursdays.   

Here are the links to the other fabulous blogs:

Merryland Girl

Froggie

Moma Rock

This week’s topic comes from me and I asked, simply:  Can someone be too nice?  The subject grew out of a conversation I’d had with my friend, Molly (who believes the answer is a resounding “yes!”), and from a post on author Gretchen Rubin’s blog wherein she averred:  “being giving can be a form of neediness.”  (Her post can be found here:  http://www.gretchenrubin.com/happiness_project/2014/03/secret-of-adulthood-being-giving-can-be-a-form-of-neediness/.)

                  In short, I agree with Molly:  people can be too nice.  And, as Rubin suggests, I believe this niceness reflects a state of neediness.  As Rubin states in her post, “when someone gives you something or does something for you, you feel you should reciprocate.”  For that reason, being the recipient of kindness often feels like manipulation.  And, often, that’s exactly the point.

                  When I think of “too nice,” I immediately picture three people; one is family, one is a friend, the other is me.  We are nice in different ways, but we are all nice for the same reason:  the desire to be liked and accepted, the desire to control the situation and receive something in return, be it something tangible or simple approval.

  

                  The Nice Family Member never misses a birthday/anniversary/holiday.  He likes to plan – everything.  For gifts, he requests a list of suggestions so he can get you exactly what you want.  His advice, though given with the utmost concern and a big, homey smile, sometimes feels more like direction.  Over the years, this person’s kindness has actually become stressful.  In part, the stress comes from the fact I simply can’t keep up.  I miss anniversaries.  I don’t always come up with great gifts.  I can plan an event, but it’s not really my thing.  I am just not wired that way.  But Nice Family Member’s behavior rattled me for other reasons, too, reasons I couldn’t immediately identify.  And then one day, after this person nicely attempted to direct me on how to throw a party by suggesting where to get the food, what food to get, how many chairs I’d need, did I remember the salad dressing, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, I realized his kindness was, actually, an attempt to control the situation – and me – all wrapped up in syrupy sweetness.  Someone looking in might have thought, Wow, how nice of him to want to help!  But inside, that niceness felt anything but.  It felt stifling and heavy.  Smothering.  Controlling.  The opposite of nice.

                  Similarly, Nice Friend is always offering to help.  He’s great at connecting people and sharing contacts.  If I’m sick, he’s offering to bring Gatorade; if I’m moving, he’s ready to pack my stuff.  He rarely asks for anything in return, but I somehow cannot shake the feeling that I owe him . . . something.  Nor can I get past the sensation that unless I keep some boundaries, he will attempt to interject himself into every facet of my life, regardless of whether there’s actually room or whether I actually want him there.  And, so, I keep boundaries, rarely asking for help, rarely accepting his offers.  I keep an arm’s length between me and the overwhelming nice.

                  Of course, there’s another type of nice, as well:  the oh-so-polite person who will not or more likely cannot say no for fear of rejection, fear that someone might just not like her.  This is type of nice from which I sometimes suffer.  I’ll admit it:  I want people to like me.  I know not everyone will, but I sure give it the old college try.  (Funny thing, though, when I realize someone doesn’t, I simply don’t waste another moment trying.)  I’m always polite, but this goes beyond polite.  My need to be nice (and liked) has led me to stay in relationships too long and to exhibit a level of patience for drama far exceeding what any sane person would find acceptable.  If I find myself in a draining friendship, I don’t leave; I default to nice.  She just needs a friend, I’ll tell myself.  I can’t abandon her now.  I never try to fix anyone; it’s not a control issue.  I just hate letting anyone down. 

                  Sometimes, my “nice” state of being has led to other problems.  I once read a quote about how manners have become so eroded, common niceties are often mistaken for flirting.  A smile is no longer a smile; it’s a smile.  This leads to confusion.  This leads to misunderstandings. 

                 

                  This leads to the Pie Guy.

                  A couple of years ago, on National Pi Day, I was listening to my favorite talk radio station as I drove to work.  The broadcaster hosted a guest:  a local pie maker attempting to revive his family’s struggling pie business.  Pie Guy brought piles of pies to the radio station and handed them out to people on the street and to callers.  I drove to work salivating, visions of tender, blueberry-filled crust filling my head.  (Hell if I didn’t think about pie the entire day.)  That night, I went on Facebook and stumbled across the broadcaster’s page, where several fans were discussing Pie Guy.  I joined in – as did Pie Guy himself.  I nicely asked where one might purchase his delicious pies, and he said he would message me about how I, too, could receive free pie!  Moments later, he posted again and said Facebook wouldn’t allow him to message me without us being friends.  Although I know this generally isn’t true, I also know the quirks of Facebook and thus wasn’t particularly suspicious.  Being nice (and trusting . . . and nice), I accepted his friend request.  And madness ensued. 

                  Pie Guy wanted to know where I lived.  I naively assumed this was relevant to me actually obtaining pie, so I gave the general area (no address – I’m not THAT nice).  Suddenly, the talk turned from the subject of luscious pie to my apparently beautiful smile and how much Pie Guy liked it.  He wanted to see it in person, when he personally delivered my pie.  I nicely and politely attempted to bring the subject back to pie – pie I was willing to purchase if he’d just tell me where – but Pie Guy wasn’t so easily swayed.  And, so, without any fanfare or the verbal slap (pie?) in the face Pie Guy so deserved, I nicely gave up.  I signed off Facebook and, later, when Pie Guy finally signed off (he spent hours on the site, likely trolling for other pie seekers with dazzling grins), I signed back on and unfriended Pie Guy. 

                  An awful lot of trouble for lemon meringue.  All because I was too trusting, too nice.

                  I truly and honestly had no idea Pie Guy had other intentions when we dialogued about pie.  I assumed – nicely, wrongly – he, too, was nice and was just nicely offering free pie in an attempt to promote his nice company.  It never, ever crossed my mind Pie Guy was using his baked goods to lure potential dates.  I took his niceness at face value, as I’d assumed he’d taken mine.  I was not-so-nicely mistaken.

                  Molly has nicely hinted I’d be well served at being a little less nice, and I must say I agree.  But it isn’t so easy for me.  I am able to be not nice if necessary; I once yelled so loudly at a rude air conditioning repairman who failed to show up for an appointment, my next-door neighbor heard me inside his house (in my defense, (a) the windows were open because WE HAD NO AIR and (b) our houses are super close together).  It’s easier for me to be not so nice to people close to me, probably because I know they love me, even if they don’t necessarily like me at that moment.  But, in general, nice is just my default.  I hope my niceness is never interpreted as manipulation, as that’s never my goal, and I don’t expect reciprocation beyond the extension of common courtesy.  I just want everyone to get along . . . and maybe enjoy a nice slice of pie together.