“The nicest person in the world?”

There’s a woman who walks her dog near the old Odwalla building – where I put food out for Smokey the raccoon, and her kitty friend who lives behind the Post Office. (I only see Smokey once a week or so, but I can tell when she’s been there, as someone has been washing their dirty paws in the water bowl.)

She has watched me numerous times when our paths cross, and last time I saw her, she exclaimed, “you must be the nicest person in the world!” I was genuinely flummoxed. “Not at all,” I stammered. “I just see a need and fill it.” She shook her head, having none of it. “I think someone should give you an award,” she smiled.

If that ever happens, it won’t be for niceness, I can guaran-damn-tee you. As I get older, and more involved with these activities, my heart continues to open, and I continue to grow in sensitivity. And where that should probably translate to more kindness toward my fellow humans, it’s not always so. In fact, more often I’m a total crank. Especially when critters are involved.

A week ago at an afternoon Litquake event, I saw an elderly dog who was tied up for more than two hours while its caretaker went to readings. It was hot outside, so someone had given it some water. And wonderful, sensitive Darothy even took it for a walk. But by the time its owner got back, I was loaded for bear. “I was ready to call the SPCA,” I told the young woman. “Not very nice to an old dog to leave it tied up for hours.” She was utterly taken aback and after stammering reasons why the dog was actually fine, she left the scene.

Then a few days later, my neighbor emailed, asking me for help in thinking of ways to re-train an elderly kitty who had begun peeing in the wrong places. She said her husband wanted to take him to a shelter, and I snapped. “You take him to a shelter, you kill him,” I wrote tersely, and then recommended a course of action that involved confining him in a bathroom etc. She thanked me, but I reproached myself later, thinking I was acting judgmental and imperious… again.

Does standing up for critters vociferously make me an unpleasant harpy? Since this seems to be a path that has chosen me, should I listen to those authentic impulses? I’ve met activists in my life who are so impassioned about their causes that no one wants to sit next to them at dinner. I can’t imagine that happening, but if it does, aren’t there worse things in life? I’d much rather be accused of excess passion than be voiceless and passive.

My friend Karen sent me some words tonight by Audre Lord, the great civil rights activist and author, that resonated enormously.

“Your silences will not protect you…. What are the words you do not yet have? What are the tyrannies you swallow day by day and attempt to make your own, until you will sicken and die of them, still in silence? We have been socialized to respect fear more than our own need for language. Next time, ask: What’s the worst that will happen? Then push yourself a little further than you dare. Once you start to speak, people will yell at you. They will interrupt you, put you down and suggest it’s personal. And the world won’t end. And the speaking will get easier and easier. And at last you’ll know with surpassing certainty that only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth. And that is not speaking.”

So I can’t apologize. I can only hope to learn the language of impact – what will make people listen rather than turn away. It would be grand to be both nice and impactful, but I had to choose between the two, there’s no real choosing to do.