It Isn't Always Kind to Be Nice

 A personal essay by Mackenzie Felt

“Do not consider me now as an elegant female, intending to plague you, but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart.” -Jane Austen

Summers in Utah are usually nice. I am finished with my latest college semester, living with my sister/best friend, and enjoying the freedom of being single. Activities lurk around every corner and friends are just a pleasant walk away.

Enter August 2018. 

The church I attend was having its annual, end-of-summer water party: there were games, food, music, a giant tarp waterslide, a zip line that dropped into a small lake—and plenty of dating opportunities.

Oh, did I mention? This was all for young, unmarried adults, ages 18-30. But I wasn’t looking for that. I don’t get asked out a lot, so I had no expectations. I had spent a carefree day singing along to Disney songs, enjoying the attractions, and laughing with my friends. 

Which was why I was surprised when a random guy walked up behind me and asked me out.

He was a few inches shorter than me, had a bit of a baby face, and it looked like I could have snapped him in two. He stood awkwardly and his friend lurked like a puppy offering moral support.

My memory tried to stir for anyway I knew him and the only thing I could think of was that he was standing behind me in line for the tarp waterslide.

All this took a few seconds, which resulted in my decision that I did not want to say yes. I took another few second to panic over what to do. He had gathered the courage. He probably heard no all the time, but he seemed sweet. I didn’t want to be mean. 

After all, I am a nice person.

*  *  *

You know how I said summers in Utah were so great? Well, winters? Not so much. I come from California and snow is not my friend. It’s mostly inconvenient, usually slushy, and always cold. Even when the darkness and death of finals are supposed to blossom into the new life and laughter of spring, the cool air is only bearable.

Enter April 2018.

I didn’t want to go out with John. He was too quiet, awkwardly weird, and I’m sorry to say, but plain unattractive. But he probably got rejected a lot. And I’m nice. So, when he asked me out, I said yes. Looking back on the memory, I see that I had walked to his apartment feeling a bit like my favorite heroine, Elizabeth Bennet, forced to politely entertain a Mr. Collins. At least John wasn't my cousin.

After eating a nice seafood meal he’d prepared and finishing a conversation you could have had with a new classmate or that estranged great uncle, he did what I expected. It wasn’t a marriage proposal like Mr. Collins, but I experienced a similar dread. He asked for another date. And I politely said no. Now that I think of it, I did that like Elizabeth as well.

“Thank you for the meal and for asking me out, but I don’t see us being anything more than friends.” I got it out. My heart had pounded a mile a minute, hoping I sounded as nice as possible, but I got it out. Now I just had to accept the minor disappointment and leave.

“How could you possibly know that after one date?” Came the angry reply.

What? I was shocked into silence for a moment, but before I could process what was behind those words, my brain jumped in to try and defend my decision.

I proceeded to explain how sometimes it takes one, sometimes ten, or sometimes no date to decide whether you want to pursue a person.

“Well, I think girls don’t give guys enough of a chance. Like tonight. You talked most of the time, so I didn’t get to say everything I wanted to say.”

“Okay, that’s valid, but it still doesn’t change how I feel.”

“I feel like you should give someone at least 3 dates before you decide.”

At this, I had to stop. To continue my Austenian experience, I felt like Elizabeth Bennet going in circles with Mr. Collins, trying to help him see why they wouldn’t work. But I was trying to do it without saying outright, “You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who could make you so.” 

Part of me felt bad for him. It must have been hard to ask for one date, let alone two. I wondered if I had been too mean in my refusal of the second. After trying once again to explain that sometimes it’s easy to know early on, he did what I didn’t expect. 

*  *  *

My mother taught me many things: wonderful, beautiful, useful things: 

• How everything around us can remind us of God. 
• How to budget for the things you want to do. 
• How it isn’t bad to ask the chef to fix or change your meal if it isn’t prepared right.. 
• How to sing out even if you don’t sing well. 
• How function is most important before fashion. 
• How to be able to talk to anyone wherever you are. 
• How to clean a house with elbow grease. 
• How to have faith. 
• How consistency is the best discipline tool. 
• How to take criticism. 
• How to always change for the better. 
• How to use I feel statements when resolving conflict.

There was so much more, and while some of these lessons were deliberate, others were happy byproducts of observing her faithful lifestyle. However, something she didn’t actively try to teach me was how to date. There was never a sit-down talk, or even a nonchalant “this is probably what you should do” passing statement. But from what my mom told me about her dating experience, I found her laws. And I intended to live by them, because who knows better than mom?

1. Always say yes to at least a first date. (Unless he is dangerous.)
2. If the first date isn’t the best, it might just be nerves so give him a second chance.
3. Looks shouldn’t matter. Attraction can grow. Even if you don’t think he is cute now, he could become so as you spend more time with him.
4. Dating is to prepare for marriage. Before, during, and after a date, ask yourself if you could see yourself marrying them.

*  *  *

Back in the April date fiasco, John had started crying.

“I just try so hard to ask girls out and they never want to date me.” 

I couldn’t believe it. I had never had a guy cry because I said no to a date. But, then again. I had never said no before. I always accepted a first date, and even some second dates when I wasn’t that interested. Usually, I just hoped they would lose interest so I wouldn’t have to hurt their feelings.

And now I felt awful. This was why I didn’t want to say no. So I wouldn’t have to see this reaction and know I caused it. So, I did what any nice person would do. I consoled.

“Oh. Well, sometimes that happens. I once went on 4 dates a week for over a month and none of those worked out. Just because it doesn’t work out with me, doesn’t mean you won’t find someone.” 

Wait. What was I doing? Yes, Elizabeth wished Mr. Collins happiness even when he refused to believe she said no, but she would never have stood for this. As John continued to complain, I felt worse and worse, until I realized that it was no longer remorse.

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted, “I feel like I’m being guilt-tripped right now. I don’t know if that’s what you’re intending, but that’s how I’m feeling.”

He looked me in the eye and in all seriousness said, “That’s partially my intention.”

My mouth probably opened and closed like a fish while I thought of how to respond. Tension built inside, wanting to burst out. I wish now that I could go back and imbue myself with Elizabeth’s confidence. To stand and shout “How dare you! Well, my full intention is to give you not just a piece of my mind, but the whole thing!”

But that would be too mean. Instead, I left. I don’t remember exactly how. I have the head-smacking memory that I had told him we could still be friends at one point (lie). And then I somehow got out of there, being grateful that I had walked, despite the chill in the air.

As I held myself closely, I tried to process what just happened. What did I do wrong? I thought I was polite. Was it too harsh? Was I a terrible person? Did I not say things right? Should I have gone on that second date? Each question was its own lake of tears just waiting behind a dam of uncertainty.

I didn’t have any answers, so I called the person that would. After all, I had been trying to follow the rules I learned from her. Maybe I missed an amendment?

“Mom?” I asked over the phone. And the dam broke.

For the rest of the walk home I asked my questions between sobs and was bombarded with reassurances and validation that I had done everything right and that he was the jerk. 

I was expecting comfort, but part of me had been afraid she would tell me that I should have done things differently. But no. She told me I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to do.

Where did that leave her rules?

In my head.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I looked at my rules more carefully. Based on Rule 4, I knew right away that I couldn’t see myself marrying him, so why did I have to follow Rule 1? Didn’t those contradict? Wasn’t physical attraction what separated romance from platonic love? So, didn’t that make it important? Why do I have to go on that date?

I wished for a while that I had not said yes to that first date with John. It went from uncomfortable to disrespectful to demoralizing in just over an hour. But there would have been another instead. That was the rule. And I was nice.

And I always will be. But these rules weren’t.

When that stranger suddenly asked me out, I did panic. But I recovered.

He wasn’t attractive to me. I would be leading him on if I said yes. And I am kind.

“Thank you for having the courage to ask, but no thank you.” 

I smiled.