For the last few months/years, I have had a low enough opinion of my life and abilities that I do not do much to make my life better – it is the life of someone waiting for death, yet too cowardly to actively seek it out.
It is with some surprise, then, that I find myself feeling somewhat hopeful today. I attribute this to talking with one of my mom’s close teacher friends, whom I'll call Ms. K. (The original article had her name, which my mom rightly criticized as inappropriate to publish in its entirety, without permission.)
She is a diminutive woman from Hawai'i, with an easy smile, a gentle voice, and a sense of humor. But it is only today that I realized that Ms. K possesses incredible insight into relationship dynamics, born from her experiences through marriage, divorce, raising five children, and teaching in public schools.
It was a great conversation, spanning over two hours at Panera. But the crux of it was this – she felt very strongly that insight and awareness were not a curse, but a blessing, and that I had these in sufficient quantities that I could relieve myself of the burdens that had been plaguing me.
If I think carefully, I can recall other periods of tremendous pain and crisis in my life where a conversation made a difference. Three one-hour conversations with a caring adult helped me catch the astronomy bug when I was six years old, and shaped my academic trajectory for two decades. A conversation with a gifted physics student at Harvey Mudd College showed me, perhaps for the first time, that even brilliant people recognize their limits in ability and time. And a conversation with a pastor in Ithaca helped me feel less alone, and I think permanently confirmed the importance and value of a church community, no matter my particular views on theology and religion.
These conversations change lives – they save lives. Without them, I would surely have died, in spirit as well as body, long ago.
At another time, I might’ve attributed it to divine Providence. At this point, maybe I’ll attribute it to the goodness and wisdom of particularly courageous individuals.
There is genuine value in being present for a person, engaged with words and heart. It is uncomfortable, and its importance easily forgotten in our busy lives. It is far more challenging in execution than articulation. But it is perhaps because of all these things that it is so rare and valuable and needed.
And so, I felt something I hadn’t really felt for a very long time – gratitude. Moreover, I felt hope. If this woman could analyze and understand the dynamics that governed her family and her relationship with her ex-husband and not be overwhelmed with grief and discouragement, then perhaps so could I. Moreover, if she could take that knowledge and build a better world for herself and her children, so could I. For someone who has looked at intelligence and insight as a curse, a barrier to the happiness that I see around me, it was a tremendous relief, a lifting of a huge burden of self-hatred and resignation.
She reminded me to think about what kind of father I would like to be someday. I still think that if I were to have children, they would be adopted – I really do not trust my genetics, based on the degree of mental illness evident in my family. But just thinking about it is an important exercise – it frames present experiences and ambitions in terms of responsibleness for others.
Getting well to be in a better position to help others hasn’t been a goal as of late. But I’d like it to be. There was a time that I think I did help people, with words and presentness, and the kind of person I’d like to be would make that a key part of life. And unlike the past, I’d like to do it out of a feeling of generosity and goodwill, rather than something tainted by desperation and neediness.
This conversation alone won’t be enough. But it’s a start, a brick to use in whatever stairway to heaven I might someday build.
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