Katie said she misses my writing. Here’s something I messed around with a couple months ago and kept waiting for inspiration on how it should end. Looks like the ending is good enough. It’ll do, anyway.

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I was in my late twenties when I posted a “shower thought” on Facebook: Saying thank you when someone does what they should anyway is sorta like thanking them for existing. No one responded except for one lone comment: It’s called showing appreciation. Try it sometime. Ok, ok, the “try it sometime” is probably an addendum of my bitter imagination and several years’ rumination, but the correction stung. 

In fourth or fifth grade, I was asked to be a reading buddy for younger children. I did not do it for long. I can’t remember how it ended, but I do remember being chastised for my lack of encouragement and enthusiasm. 

When I was doing some team-building exercise with my youth group in high school, my team wasn’t doing well. In an attempt to spur us on, I called out, “Guys that was pathetic!” Mrs. H knitted her brows at me and said, “Well now that wasn’t very nice.”

Appreciation. 
Encouragement.
Niceness.

These are things I learned in time, and often through these kind of unpleasant experiences. I still am quite confused by niceness, but I try to make up for this, and frankly most other things, with genuine kindness. 

I grew up being told, as most children of my generation were, that I was good inside and smart and could do anything. And yet I was also berated constantly for my thoughtlessness, rarely praised for anything but perfect results, and frequently told that I can do better. 

I grew up believing that the way to success is through constant criticism. And why praise anything less than the best? It cheapens the meaning of praise. I grew up thinking that spurring people on meant correcting every error until all errors were gone. Then and only then would it make sense to let up, to show appreciation and offer praise. 

I started to see in my mid to late thirties (far too late) that this is entirely backwards. We don’t grow from condemnation. Success isn’t the result of ruthless criticism. Ruthless criticism kills the drive to succeed at all. Sometimes it even kills the will to live. 

I cringe at high-school me shouting, “That was pathetic!” But I also want to wrap her up in the biggest, warmest hug and tell her that it’s okay — you don’t know what you don’t know. Because I know now that this is what I needed. I know now that we grow through nurture, which includes a bit of pruning, but is certainly not the whole work. 

I don’t post much anywhere anymore (another learning curve), but when I do it is with this in mind: the world is full of hurting people who are still learning what “appreciation” means. The least I can do is be kind.