A little thing happened a few days ago.  Tiny, really.  My office is situated such that I hear many, if not all, the conversations in the hallway.  The building seems to echo right into my little space.

I do my best to ignore it.  I’m absolutely a busy body–but the kind of busy body that wishes to be told by the person themselves, not listen at corners.  I have NO desire to be a little pitcher with big ears.  It doesn’t help the work place, it doesn’t help my paranoia, it doesn’t help anything.

Unfortunately, many times I end up hearing and remembering things without even realizing it.  Today was one such day.

A coworker of mine, a nice and sweet girl, was telling someone about her mother’s vacation.  Her mother is a bit of a worry wart, admittedly, and when the daughter takes a day off work, her mother calls her at least once to make sure all is well.  When she took off for vacation, driving some miles to see her mother, she didn’t call her daughter once–even after being asked.  My coworker, who is a genuinely nice girl and I enjoy working with her a lot, then proceeded to gleefully describe the harsh message she had left for her mother because of this.

Now, I am aware that this was a situation years in the making.  It was the result of one too many phone calls over too many years.  Turn about was, in this case, fair play.  I understand that.  What worried me–more for myself than this mother-daughter pair–was the glee that my coworker took in being nasty to her mother.  It made me wonder.

Do I rejoice in being mean?

I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t know.

I can think of times that I have.  I can think of times I have refrained and felt penitence for being nasty.  But what I do more often than not I cannot tell.

From now on, I want to celebrate kindness.  I want to see the opportunities that could go one way or the other and choose better.  I want to tell my family stories about funny moments or sweet moments or silly moments.  I want people to be able to tell those stories about me.

I’ll admit that it’s easy to enjoy a good zing.  I love snark.  It’s funny.  It’s easy.

It is much harder to be nice.  But I don’t want to be afraid of hard.  I want to embrace it.  I want to see the world for the wonder that it is and change it for the even better.

I want to be kind.