My husband, Greg, isn’t just a nice guy, he’s the nicest guy. It comes from his gut—there’s no faking, no thinking twice, and no trying to appeal to the person on the other side of the conversation. He’s just nice—deeply empathetic, deeply intuitive, and able to decipher what people want, need, and mean before they can, in many cases. It’s pretty natural for him, honed by decades of training and advanced education, to transform those skills into his career: coaching educational leaders.
So, when someone doesn’t like him or doesn’t respond with the arms-open gratitude and appreciation he’s used to, I have to be ready to hear about it.
I, on the other hand, don’t expect to be universally loved. As a kid, my mother clearly and frequently reminded us that part of being an adult is accepting that some people will like us, and some people won’t. It’s normal, she’d tell us. Just like we aren’t friends with everyone, not everyone will want to be friends with us. And, to my siblings and me, that’s always rung pretty true. We’ve always had friends—lots of friends, even—and I’d consider us each equal parts extrovert and introvert. But at the same time, if someone doesn’t welcome us into their inner circle, we don’t miss a beat. We can still engage them, work with them, talk to them—we just don’t jockey for anything beyond that.
Greg, though, can’t deal. He deeply reflects, questions, obsesses. Sometimes he turns it on the other person—it’s obviously them, even when it’s obviously not. They don’t want to change. They aren’t self-aware. They don’t realize how they come across. Ultimately, he retreats to one of two corners: “I’m over it” or “I’m (obsessively) all over it.” Neither is good, healthy, or productive. But when someone doesn’t give him the nice guy welcome he’s grown so accustomed to, he doesn’t know how to exist—how to work, even peripherally—with that person.
Related Posts
His greatest strength—that genuine empathy, kindness, and care for others—is also the trait that can completely knock him off his course.
I know he’s not alone. My super-trusting friend is prone to being taken advantage of, especially in relationships. My brilliant sister is so laser-focused and, as a result, accelerates in whatever she sets her mind to—but often misses everything else happening in her life which, during fits of total focus, can easily come crashing down around her. Our Dad loves love—a very charming trait, of course, that makes him easy to engage and a great go-to. But, as a result, he’s always up and down over the latest love interest—and the heartbreak is worthy of a tween summer blockbuster.
Greg isn’t alone—so many people are who they are because of some incredible trait. But that all-in nature can also be a significant pain point.
That’s not to say Greg needs everyone to be his best friend, but if that spark doesn’t happen instantly, he’s thrown and, admittedly, ineffective, at least when interacting with that person. And that’s a problem. The larger his professional circle expands, the more people won’t embrace him and his methods—literally and figuratively. Some people just won’t connect with him. Some will think it’s a bit of an act—there’s always the cynics who think people can’t really be “this nice.”
Others don’t want to change or self-reflect or dig deep. They’re comfortable with the status quo and don’t want labels like “white privilege” and “implicit bias” tossed around, at least not when describing them. But to do the work Greg does means owning that discomfort—but also owning that many people connect the words and the emotions to the person who’s bringing them forward. Greg, in other words. Greg is the mark. And those people will never, ever like him—but to be effective in his work, he needs to shake it off and keep moving forward.
Besides that, some people just won’t like him. And like my mom said, that’s just part of being an adult, Greg.
Photo by tabitha turner on Unsplash
