I think we’re afraid of empathy. Partly that might be because we’re wrapped up in our own problems and we can’t be bothered with the problems of others, but I suspect that many of us avoid empathy because we think we’ll get so caught up in it that we’ll become consumed by it, that we won’t be able to do anything else but mourn for the gargantuan sorrows of the world. I see us inventing artificial reasons as to why we shouldn’t care about entire groups of our fellow human beings. Some don’t care about those on food stamps because it’s so easy to assume that most of them are just lazy and don’t want to work. Some want to write off those who drive luxury cars or even everybody who lives in rich countries like the United States. But tragedy could strike any of us at any time, and I think on some level, we all know this. That woman whose driving that fancy car could hit a utility poll within the next five minutes. Her brains could be splattered all over the pavement. What good will her status and her bank account do her then?
But I don’t think turning our feelings off is the answer. It’s true that we only have a limited amount of time, and there’s so little we can do about the mess the world is in. The mess is too huge and complex. So it might be tempting to become cynical and dismissive. But if we don’t acknowledge our own grief and sorrow, I think we’ll spend our lives running from those things because they’re always going to be right below the surface. And if we don’t feel for others, we become callous and mean. Is there really any happiness and satisfaction in that?
I think there’s a balance we have to achieve before we can truly be ourselves. I have thought about this for many years, and I admit that I have not worked out the exact formula, but I think we have to let measured doses of it all in. We have to feel for ourselves, and we have to feel for others. And I think we have to acknowledge the horrors without forgetting to laugh, appreciate beauty or experience joy.
I can easily recall the night that I woke up from my first head surgery. I felt horrible. I hurt all over. The first thing I did was throw up, and because I was so weak, I couldn’t even lift my head, so I vomited all over myself. And aside from the physical discomfort, I was scared and lonely, and I thought I was going to die. I am thankful that the doctors were able to successfully remove the tumor in my head, and I’m thankful that the hospital staff nursed me back to health, but that night I wasn’t sure I would make it. However, I wouldn’t have blamed anybody if I hadn’t. I didn’t expect anyone to “fix” the universe for me just so I wouldn’t have to face mortality. But it would have been really nice if someone had taken the time to stand by my bed, to touch my hand or my arm, look down at me with an open heart and feel my fear and my pain with me. If someone had done that, if someone had really opened themselves up to it, they would have felt what I was feeling because that fear and pain wasn’t just mine. Even though I was the one on my back with a big bandage on my head, anybody who took the time to feel for me would have had to acknowledge that there was a chance they could have died that night, too.
We all hurt and we’re all going to die, so maybe it’s understandable that we want to look away from the horror most of the time, but I think feeling for people actually does make the world a better place for us and everyone else. Knowing someone understood that night after my surgery would have been a comfort, and I think when we comfort others, we end up comforting ourselves. When we feel for one another, we know we’re not alone, and that’s a big help.
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