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Nice: pleasing or agreeable; kind; respectable; attractive and delicious as a nice meal

Such a short word. That is the word that was always used to describe me. I started resenting that label as a teen. I did not tell people that I disliked their compliment, that they should increase their vocabulary. I did not act out, drink, party, dress wildly. I just kept on being nice.  I did however stop using it for many years.  As a teen, nice meant: boring, blah, predictable, plain, shy, reserved and chubby. I wanted to be exotic (I have large brown eyes after all) adventurous, a daredevil,  but my brother got those genes, I got to worry about him. What I got instead are the book lover genes. I spent many hours reading books in the summer, my mom would always find me engrossed in a story, she would have to call my name several times to get my attention so I could hear her say: “Take a break from reading, go outside, get some fresh air, you are going to go blind.”  I did not lose my sight, I never had to wear glasses until well in my forties, books have been good for my vision. I did go outside to play and sleuth around like my favorite masked character. My brother, my cousin and I climbed the giant cherry tree outside our house, unfortunately they were the small bitter kind, but what a welcoming easy tree to climb, we spent hours seating with our backs to its trunk with cherry earrings framing our warm faces, talking about nothing and everything. I never missed any of our family hikes and picnics. My mom didn’t ski, dad joined the ski-club and took my brother and I skiing on Sundays.  When I had growing pains and could not ski because my knees would hurt too much, my mom, who did not drive, took me on the bus to town to go ice skate, she watched me stumble across the ice rink sipping her cappuccino or hot cacao from the restaurant window. Our ice rink was an outdoor one, I loved it, we both made new friends. I loved having her to myself on the bus, my mom has always been an easy talker, not intrusive just caring, she never asked too many questions. Back then we did what all kids did, now we would be considered free-range kids, how lucky for us to have been allowed to be kids. We were not allowed to drop our popsicle wrappers or sticks on the ground, we were expected to respond when an adult spoke to us even if they were interrupting an important battle, when it was time to come in we were expected to fill the holes we dug or level the hills we built, we were taught to respect plants and animals, to not squish bugs just because they were there, she expected us to be gentle giants.

I don’t mind the word nice when it is used to describe how my life was or is now.  But as adolescence reared its head and people kept telling mom what a nice girl I was, I liked it less and less. I didn’t realize at the time that the reason I felt that way was that nobody really knew the real me, that all they saw was a reflection, an image of me, only I knew how I felt or did not feel, that I was trying to figure out who I was meant to be.  Nice was not helpful at all, such a generic word; I needed the Rx shot, the original version, a logo that would help steer me in the right direction. I am still figuring out who I am 40 years later. Fortunately for me the books were always there when I needed help, they provided the best escape from the angst of adolescent-hood and adult-hood. As an adolescent the world seemed chaotic, scary, being thought as nice felt like a piece of duct tape was covering the hole that held the feelings of inadequacy, self doubt, the fear of not finding where I fit in in check. When I look back or hear how people talk to each other I realize that I could have been called so many other words, I was lucky to have a kind word associated with my name.

My angst pushed me towards books. I never felt the need to do drugs until a few months ago when I was offered a glass of wine and later asked if I wanted to smoke a joint,  I could not figure out how to inhale without burning my throat, my hands are meant to hold books not burning, stinky joints.  I might need a muscle relaxant to be able to smoke. Since it is legal in my state I was allowing myself the chance to try something I had never done before I had children.  Visiting the library more often, rekindling my love of reading on the other hand has awaken a hunger for learning  Maybe my hesitation is due to the fact that I like to be in control of my body, I do not like to invade other people’s spaces with weird or dangerous antics. I am a rule follower when it comes to safety, I am not “Piglet”, but there is a reason we have to fill out forms for any type of “fun” before hand.  Some risks are acceptable to me others are not. 3D rides were invented for people like me. We get to live the story in a fun and safe environment.

It turns out that what you see is what you get with me.  My fundamental personality has shaped my life, my own family, it has brought me joy, frustration, pain. I don’t multitask, I am a giver, a carer, I allowed nice to take over my whole life, letting it to grow bigger than me. It was fine for many years but then as my girls grew I started worrying that all I was becoming was a doormat, not a good role model for them, I didn’t recognize myself, I had become invisible, I had disappeared, frustration set in. But life intervened when I needed it the most, nice became resilience, strength, it taught me the ability to say no, to put myself first when it was needed, to face myself and let go of resentment and fear, to let gratitude in and my sense of humour shine. What do I hear now? Strong, kind, nice, thoughtful, a good friend. What have I learned in the last year? To be nicer and kinder to myself, to say no or enough, to put myself first when needed, to be more assertive. I still have strong emotional feelings towards the word nice because it conjures images of a doormat, of forgetting myself, of losing my way. As this year of growth continues it happens less and less; when it does I open a book, I don’t allow the negative picture in my head to take over, I change it with one that brings me joy. I’ve found my Rx, still working on a logo.

As Nelson Mandela said: “Resentment is like drinking poison and thinking that your enemies will die.”

Have a nice day!