That’s what I thought before I moved to California from the Right Coast. The word kindness triggered images of wishy-washy, bleeding-heart suckers. This, of course, says a lot about the person I was when I moved here. It also speaks volumes about how, kindness was (and wasn’t) modeled for me. In short, kindness scared me. It was unfamiliar. I didn’t trust people who were kind to me. Why are they being nice to me? What do they really want? Growing up, I was programmed to take and hoard. Operating from a scarcity mentality, I still find myself subconsciously thinking and acting out on the idea that there is not enough of everything I need or want. If I believe there is not enough to go around, and I am looking to only take care of me and mine, giving and kindness are easily forgotten. I am pretty sure, deep down inside, kindness is my natural way of being and I lost touch with it somewhere along the way. Maybe that is why kindness can trigger me. It reminds me of the essential goodness of that caring child. Can you relate to my story? Does it trigger you? In which ways? Do you have another point of view to share?