Dear [Your Name],

Kindness week.

Kindness week wasn't nearly the ordeal I was afraid of because, as a challenge, it's not a very good one. It takes more than a week to figure out kindness, and much more than a week to make it a habit. It was effective, though, in making me think about kindness. These are thoughts;

Kindness is rooted in the assumption that whoever you're being kind to has value on account of being human.  That's what I think. In that light, it's a logical extension of imagining others complexly.

Kindness is more potent when applied to our closer relationships.

"Kind" tends to describe something that happened in a specific situation, rather than a person who ongoingly is kind.

Kindness is not so different from serving others. Having an attitude of kindness is not so different from having a "servant's heart", either.

Kind is different from Nice. Nice has largely to do with avoiding conflict, and has the connotation of being shallower. Kindness has more to do with doing something to the eventual benefit of the person you're being kind to.

I didn't know what to change in order to be kind, during kindness week. Where is kindness needed? How do you be kind without seeming self-important? What should I do in order to be kind? I don't know. This is the kind of thing people spend their lives doing, being kind.

I don't mean to overstate myself, so let's be clear: a week isn't enough time to fully realize what kindness is, so something in the above is probably a little bit not right, and certainly the definition isn't complete. A week also isn't enough time to adopt kindness as a habit. It hasn't drastically altered my behavior very much. I did not walk out of Kindness Week a fully different, better person.

Sincerely,
Claire

Dear [The Name of the Kid Whom I Didn't Expect to Find Poetry So Interesting],

The more I think about it, the more it seems to me that imagining others complexly is a really good idea. By the way, for those uninitiated, imagining others complexly is an idea I learned largely from John Green of vlogbrothers and authorship fame. (Click on any word in this sentence to find out why vlogbrothers is awesome.) Basically, it means remembering that other people are people too, and nothing more, and nothing less. It means not making them into single-dimensional ideas, and it means using creativity to get to empathy (more on that concept here).

The thing is, I'm not sure it's possible to imagine people really, really complexly. It's hard enough imagining ourselves complexly, and we all have constant access to what it's like to be us. Not only that, there are too many people and too many patterns to imagine everyone as complexly as we imagine ourselves. The trick to it, then, is is choosing good patterns. The failsafe patterns John suggests are that all people are valuable, that all people are like you, and that it's important to remember that you're probably always at least a little bit wrong about a person.

It occurs to me that so far, this post has been a bit dry and technical. Try it out-- it makes the ideas way more interesting.

Anyway, what came along with trying to imagine others complexly was realizing that kindness is essential. I am not usually mean, and I am usually loyal, but these things don't make kindness. I told you about most of these things as they occurred to me. We came up with the idea of kindness week. We're starting tomorrow.

I've done honesty week a few times-- it's refreshing, and it's pretty easy. But kindness week? I'm scared. I'm not good at being kind, not really. I'm not good at it because it takes effort, and it's not always fun, and I'm not even convinced that I like it. But the idea of kindness seems like a good one, so I guess I'll have a go. On the other hand, even in the last few days, I have been impressed by the kindness I've seen in you, and if you can do it, anyone can. (That was a joke; I have every respect for you.)

Chances are high I'm over-idealizing the situation, but when it's a new situation, that's easy to do. Next week, blogreaders, I'll have an update for you.

Sincerely,
Clarie

Dear e. e. cummings,

in Just-

spring          when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

whistles          far          and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far          and             wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's

spring

and

         the

                  goat-footed

balloonMan          whistles

far

and

wee

That was a poem you wrote one time, about the giddiness that the very beginning of spring induces, but also about the way children lose their innocence and the way that childlike glee reminds us of the distance between those feelings and the feelings of being grown up.

It has recently turned from winter to Just-spring, here in Iowa. The sun seems to have remembered that sometimes, Iowa is worth shining on full blast. Much of the snow has melted, and the grass has started to look green again. It's been warm enough to leave your coat at home, and the frost has come up out of the ground. (By the way, frost coming up out of the ground is a great metaphor waiting to happen.) The world here has become mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.


I've been thinking about your poem all week, ever since the sun came out. Part of the magic is in taking the defining physical features of Just-spring (mud and puddles) and attaching them to subjective words that elicit the perfect connotation. Part of it is in attaching Just-spring to the excitement of children playing. That's effective not because children play the games you described in Just-spring more than in any other time, but because it connects the feelings the reader remembers from those games with the feelings the reader associates with Just-spring. Part of it is in calling Just-spring its own distinct phenomenon, different from regular spring as it is from regular winter.


But what gives this poem dimension is placing Just-spring up against Pan, the balloonman. The motion you've given the children is held in contrast by the static action of the balloonman. All he does is whistle far and wee. Nothing has really changed in the coming of Just-spring.


The thing about Just-spring is that it's temporary. Already, the temperature has begun to drop, and it's supposed to snow on Monday. There are several weeks that will look as much like winter as spring between here and the straightaway to summer. I know when you wrote "in Just-" in the first line, you meant it like one word, "injust", and that you meant it to reflect that it's unfair that children have to grow up; but your poem belongs to its readers now, and I think it's injust that just-spring doesn't last.


Thanks for your beautiful contribution to literature; the western world and I are in your debt. If there's anything we can do for you in return (outside of reading, teaching, and loving your poetry) don't hesitate to let us know.


Sincerely,
Claire

Dear [The Name of the Kid Who Sits One Desk Up and One Desk Over From Me in AP Physics Class],

I think people are smart.

I mean, communicating is complicated-- take speaking, for example. Every word is a symbol with no inherent meaning. Then, those words are organized into grammar, which is complex and full of patterns that sometimes undercut one another in weird ways. Then, you factor in context, and facial expressions, and body language, and inflection, and you attach that meaning to what you already know. You take into account the listener's bias. That's a lot of stuff to do, a lot of patterns to attend to.

I find it difficult to accept that people are capable of all that without trying, but aren't highly intelligent.

And I don't really know who would argue against that.

Today, you told me the way society represses creativity separates those who can hold onto it from those who can't. The result is "Smart" people and "Stupid" people. You also challenged me with this hypothetical: What if you had a government that didn't allow freedom of thought, but all of the citizens were always happy, and didn't know any different? That's a good hypothetical because of the questions it raises. Do people have a right to think for themselves? Is independent thought inherently valuable? Is it possible to really control thought? If you were able to fully control thought, would that, in fact, be self-serving in the long run? Orwell asked a lot of the same questions in 1984, and I didn't know the answers when I read it either. So I'm still mulling over that one, but here are thoughts in the meantime.

This country is a democracy. In fact, most countries are, now. Democracies assume that the masses are, in fact, capable of making the best choice, that people are intelligent, and do have good judgement. Why would you want to educate people out of the ability to think critically? Isn't that essential for making good decisions? If you, as a citizen of a democracy, are personally invested the actions of the country, which are determined by the people, wouldn't you want to educate the crap out of them so they can think intelligently and make intelligent decisions? I would.

I'm pretty sure thought exists only in patterns, that intelligence is the ability to notice, describe and manipulate those patterns, and that creativity is like intelligence but with a stronger emphasis on manipulating patterns. I'm pretty sure intelligence is the most the most prominent evolutionary adaptation this species has, that it's a large part of the reason we're still living, and that it's most of the reason we're living this way. (The gigantic pull toward entertainment? In incredible comfort? With the ability to postpone death lots and lots of times per capita? Have you seen the first world?) And I know I'm biased, but I think the way I get to live is awesome. Why thwart the ability that's kept humans alive and improving their surroundings since forever ago until now? But I recognize that I started with assumptions, and that they may be incorrect.

These are just thoughts. They might be wrong. They might be only partly wrong. They may rely on assumptions that are flawed. I reserve the licence to change my mind whenever I so choose, and I give you, whoever you are, every licence to call me out on bad thinking.

Sincerely,
Claire





Post Script: Dear [The Name of the Kid Who Sits One Desk Up From Me],
I find it difficult to reconcile your statement "I don't understand why school needs to be reformed" with your statement "I will not let you turn me into a sheep. Even if free thought brings my destruction, it is worth fighting for."

Dear the Internet,

This is the gameplan. This blog will have on it (ideally) developed and developing thoughts. Probably the won't be as letters-ey as the other open letters blog I have. The reason I have two is that this one is harder to find, and therefore provides greater anonymity. The other shows up on the first page of google if you search my name (so that's pretty cool). The plan is that it'll be updated at least every week. But that's just the plan. The plan may have to change.

Oh yeah. The other blog. It lives Here, but it's pretty whiney. I wouldn't recommend going over there unless you want to read me whining like no one but Victor Frankenstein and Arthur Dimmesdale have ever whined before.

Sincerely,
Claire