Monthly Archives: November 2014

RAK at the edge of the shore, or RAK with a side of shame

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I know a woman who, along with her husband, helped me to find the courage to pull back the curtain and expose the man behind who is using the frightening and impressive smoke and mirrors.

I am in Manila, Philippines all this week working on a public health project (I am a behavioral scientist, damn it, not a hippie!). I am sad to be away for Thanksgiving (my favorite holiday) but my daughter and I will celebrate when I get back this weekend, and the work I do here might make a difference…..or not. There is a lot I have been thinking about regarding being away on this holiday, but that is for another blog as I am still sorting that out. There is another topic to ponder for today.

IMG_1651.JPGIMG_1601-0.JPGMy RAK the first day here was to give food to a “street dweller.” Good one, right? Yeah….. but it is more complicated than that. Sigh, isn’t it always? But perhaps a story worth telling and wondering about.

When I drop out of space into a new country the first few hours are a disorienting kaleidoscope of images, sounds and smells (ah, the smells……let’s agree to just skip the descriptions of that part of the experience). I have found that the best way to overcome this overwhelming sensory waterfall is by immersing myself in its waters by walking through busy streets. It also turns out that being out in the sunshine is a good way for me to shake up the circadian rhythm of my brain to help with jet lag. Bonus!

So, after my morning meetings, I headed out toward a park a couple kilometers away from my hotel through the streets with some marvelously intense sensory experience. At the edge of the park, I stumbled across a group of about a dozen hawkers food stalls, closely lined on each side of long picnic tables, under a tin roof, open at each end. Think outdoor food court….with an array of food you would never find in a U.S. shopping mall food court. During mealtimes, these places are crowded, I mean wall-to-wall people crowded, busy, buzzing and it is a challenge to take in and process the whole scene, especially when jet lagged. I walked through, passing the various stalls, trying to absorb the offerings of each stall without lingering too long and garnering the attention of an employee who would then seek to engage me in a negotiation to make a commitment. A tricky process. In the end, I made my choice in part randomly and in part by location because I didn’t think my brain could handle walking all the w
ay back through the buzzing hive without abandoning me and fleeing my skull for a nice quiet spot under the picnic tables. With discretion being the better part of valor, I chose one near the end of the row.

My choice provided me a generous portion of two entrees and rice served in a styrofoam container like what a sub-sandwich might come in with entrees in the container and the rice in the lid. Doing a bit of quick math in my head, this feast cost me about $8 USD…..when my brain was back on line later that day, I realized it only cost me $1.50 USD(!) and that included a soda too.

I sat on a ledge close to the market next to a dental clinic (I don’t know if the proximity of the dental clinic to the hawkers food market was a good or bad thing, or completely random), eating, occasionally chatting with the young men sitting next to me, taking in the sea of people. As I ate, the bustling crowd momentarily parted, revealing a man about 20 ft away, digging through the food court trash can….right there….surrounded by people talking and laughing and quickly eating their lunch before returning to work to whom he appeared to be invisible.

I stood up so I could see over the crowd (turns out that I am sort of a giant in the Philippines) what he was doing. I was saddened, appalled and a bit nauseated to see that he was methodically digging through the trash, opening the discarded styrofoam containers and dumping the contents into a plastic shopping bag.

I immediately stopped eating and started walking toward him. I could see that he had about a gallon of rice and bits of food scrapes in his bag. I was disgusted by how it looked, imagining the effect of the heat and humidity on the contents wrapped in plastic, and, for some reason, the way he kept digging deeper into the trash can to find containers he had not yet opened distressed and upset me. I wanted him to stop. I wanted him to stop now.

As I approached, I opened my container with my fork in it and I offered it to him as one offers a business card in Asia, slight bow and with both hands. In my mind, I was offering food, not trash. He did not break from his task. He took my container, removed the fork, threw the fork into the trash can (points for not littering the fork, nor the emptied containers; all into the trash can), dumped my offering into his bag and continued his search for unopened containers. I was already in the process of turning away but in my head I was thinking, “Wow, I gave you food and you threw it in with the garbage,” which upset me because, coming from my world, I expected him to eat my leftovers…..with the fork I had proved. It was hard for me to understand that in his world my offering meant something different, more to add to his bag.

As I walked away and was thinking about this interaction, I felt a wave of shame. Not because my “special gift” of food had been trashed (literally from my point of view) but because of the interaction in itself. More specifically, shame about my behavior during the interaction. In telling you about my “generosity,” I left out some details, minor details, but they mattered to me. As I approached this man, I averted my gaze, I turned my head away when I handed him the remains of my lunch, i did not make eye contact, I did not even look at him, I did not speak to him, I walked quickly away back into the crowd. And I was ashamed. I recognized a fellow human wrapped in suffering and in need, but I did not acknowledge his humanness.

In many places I have been, I have seen Poverty, sometimes Intense Poverty, Poverty so deeply woven into the fabric of that place that one cannot imagine how it would ever be different. I am no doe-eyed American school boy about the world of humans……well, at least in some contexts anyway. And being present with this man, truly seeing him, acknowledging his personhood was more than I could do. I could not look into the face of this person who was swimming in a massive ocean filled with so many other humans swimming into those same waters while I stood on the shore and tossed in bits of rice. Like feeding koi, standing serenely on the waters edge, safe in the knowledge that I would never swim in those waters. As I walked away into the park, I file this event under “S” for Shame and locked in a filing cabinet for consideration later.IMG_0016-0.JPG

Much to my own surprise, given what I know about my preference for avoidance, a few hours later I did bring it out of the basement and into the sun for consideration. Go, me. I realized that Shame was growing its thorny self on fears and false assumptions about how I “should” act, how the man “should” act. These expectations masked the reality that I had done a random act of kindness. I had seen another human was in need of kindness and responded as best I could, with as much presence as I was capable. That I was overwhelmed by the gulf between my world and his and the intensity of his need, that I could not look him in the face, does not change the fact that I did see him and I acted. And I learned. I felt the rough edge of how far I could go, and I started to question why I could not go further.

I turned this over in my head and in my heart. Why was I unable to accept the situation for what it was and why did I so vehemently want it to stop and go away? Why was I disgusted and rejecting? In a basic way, my offering him my “trash” and wanting it to be “food” was about me, was driven by my not wanting to face the harsh reality of this person’s daily existence, and that of many others in this city. His active demonstration of his intense poverty in the middle of a hive of relative prosperity, while we turned food into trash, we ignored his blatant efforts to turn trash into food. How dare he be a shining beacon of the horror of poverty in action while we were eating lunch. It somehow seemed so much more palatable to walk by beggars on the streets, witness impoverished people mingled with others on the streets thereby being in awareness but hidden enough to not be flashing their Intense Poverty Colors. Ouch. What Ugliness, Ugliness on MY part. How much easier it is to perform random acts of kindness when a Poor Person does not force me to truly step into the horrific reality that is the polluted, neglect stream they swim in.

Crap, crap, crap. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Nothing like having the curtain pulled back and receiving a chance to exam so closely you can see each pore of the illusions you create to keep the world an acceptable level of tolerable. A humbling lesson, a humbling realization about myself and my efforts to fit the world into nicely defined boxes, even when I am trying hard at “being open to experience.” AND despite my personal limitations, my demanding expectations of how I should have been to be a “good person” and to truly be a prize winning RAK-er, and my absurd underlying expectations of the impact my small gesture would have on this man’s experience of the moment, despite how much my actions were driven by my discomfort with the situation, despite all of this, this was also still a random act of kindness. While aspects of my behavior were driven by parts of me that I want to be otherwise and hope to change, it is also true that I saw him and was moved by his suffering to interact with him and show kindness. My shame would need to find another place to root and grow (don’t worry about its welfare as there are many other places with fertile soil in the complex landscape that is me).

Among the many important facets of this event and my subsequent questioning is one that is rare and precious. The acknowledgement that it is not a failure to have times when I am less than what I expect from myself, want from myself. This acknowledgement is itself a random act of kindness to myself. A rare and precious RAK indeed.

Enough?

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I know a woman who continues to touch many people’s lives in ways that seem meaningful.  A powerful tribute to her life.

Maze #1 2014 Maze #2 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am starting with a digression (You: seriously? Sigh). Thinking back about the “rules” discussion we had last blog. It occurred to me that I should pass along that there is more than knowing the rules (your’s & other people’s). Knowing of Rules is a key piece to the puzzle, but it turns out you have to act on that knowledge. I will confess that my first response to learning this was, “Are you freaking kidding me? I have to do all this difficult and often painful work to explore nooks and crannies and opening locked trunks in my psychological basement (and yes, it is dark, and there are spiders and rats and scary things down there) to discover and bring a large pile of crazy shit out into the sunshine, and now there is more to do!!??” Not a happy camper. I was sort of hoping there would prizes, hopefully a medal, maybe even a parade. “The winner for Best Personal Insight in a Complicated Human goes to……..Erik!” The crowd cheers, I run to the stage, wiping a tear from my eye. I am a bit chagrined to admit that I even drafted an acceptance speech.

Of course, I knew this, knew that it wasn’t just about knowing or sorting & filing these “wise, deep personal insights” (Can I get an Ohhmmmmmm?). It is about using what you learn to begin and sustain the process of becoming a glob of flesh that is more true to……true to…..who you want to be? Who you are? Who you were before your history buried the real You? I really don’t know. It is apparent though that this process involves acting on those “wise, deep personal insights” which is not a simple task.

You: Got it. Thanks for the….. “wise, deep personal insights.” How about that RAK Challenge thing?
Oh, right….. Ok, a couple weeks back, as I was leaving a convenience store, a man who was also walking out dropped one of the lottery tickets he had just purchased.  I know that is what was dropped because I too was at the store to purchase a slip of desperate hope (Yes, I understand what 740,000,000 to 1 means, but a guy can dream).  I picked it up, called to him and gave it back. Of course when I did, I thought “What if this is the winning ticket?” I suspect he did too.

Lots of different ways to wonder about that RAK (including was that really a RAK or “doing the right thing” but let’s set that question aside…because I want RAK credit for it!). What I want to wonder about is that I know there are people who would say, “What a fucking dumbass! That could have been the winning ticket.” And another group who would say, “What a great act of kindness! That could have been the winning ticket.” What differentiates these two groups of people?  Why do some people get so intensely angry, to the point of sometimes killing each other, when someone cuts them off in traffic, but other people don’t care at all? I had a colleague who once threatened to “ruin my career” because he was in such a panic when he found out my team and I had been working independently for months on an idea and he felt it was his idea. On the other hand, I give ideas away all the time, knowing there are so many cool and exciting ideas, I could never do a fraction of them, please take them and nurture them. If I hold on to them they will wither and die from neglect. (I have many character flaws so don’t think I am trying to say how generous and wonderful I am or whatever)

Again, what differentiates these two groups? Two so different ways of being in the world? Of course the world is not this dichotomous and the reasons are numerous, but I do think there is a core perception that explains much of what puts us into one of these camps. I don’t think it has anything to do with intelligence, education, economic status, religion or any of that stuff. Heck, I don’t think it has anything to do with being a “nice person.”  What then?  I think under all the many factors that contribute to this way of responding is a person’s answer to a simple core question that colors how we view and interact with our world.

The question: Is there enough? Yes or no? The implications of the answer run deep.

Do you feel in your bones that the world is a place of plenty or scarcity? If you believe there is Not Enough, the world becomes a place of winners and losers. You have to prepare for the long winter, for the drought, the time of famine that will surely come. It feels like when things are given to others, it means you get less. You lose when others gain. To protect yourself you need to fight for every resource and see others as competitors who will potentially steal what you need. Do not let down your guard or you will lose. Someone cuts you off in traffic? They are taking from you. Someone has the same idea as you? They have clearly stolen from your precious hoard. Not Enough is a painful way to live.

At times in my life when I found myself coming from a place of Not Enough, I felt tense, constricted, anxious, grasping, putting others down in order to undermine their chance to be given what I needed to feel good about myself. I felt small.

If you believe there is Enough, then others receiving does not mean less for you. You don’t have to be constantly on guard that others are stealing what you need. There are certainly still many psychological monsters to be afraid of and demons to struggle with, but this is one less fear, and it is a huge one to be able to ignore because it is so fundamental. If there is Enough, it becomes easier to let go.

Based on the last few months of daily random kindness, it feels like being able to let go is a foundation. Seems you could still do RAK but the kind acts available to you would be narrow and your ability to sustain this type of kindness impaired. Of course if Not Enough is part of every breath, then RAK is impossible. Not Enough is a painful way to live. Not Enough puts you into a tiny box. Not Enough creates a canyon between you and Love.

What do you think? What do you feel? Is there enough?

 

Open to the silly

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I know a woman who along with her husband have helped me remember to laugh when things get ridiculous.

Frog God Corrected 2014

A disclaimer: I have great respect for police officers. I think they have dangerous shitty jobs and are paid shit to do them. And because they are fellow humans, sometimes interactions with them become just plain silly.

The other day, a Federal police officer and I were each filling up our respective vehicles. I was wearing a suit (I clean up pretty well, if I do say so myself) because, although I am a tiny minnow swimming in an enormous ocean, I am sometimes asked to attend meetings where much larger fish ponder Important Issues related to this vast sea, and I happen to know some minnow stuff that is of use to their pondering. I knew he was a Federal officer because of the decals on his huge truck-like vehicle and he was wearing the full gear: dark uniform, batman utility belt (what are all those cool looking tools anyway?), bulletproof vest (how horrible this is needed for any job), dark sunglasses, etc. I am quite sure I would not have guessed he was a Federal officer without the truck decals. Despite the accouterments, he was short, chubby and frumpy. Picture Eric Cartman from South Park episode where he impersonates a police officer.  Yes, I know, judging, much judging, but in all fairness Washington has many officers of all different flavors so you have an opportunity to collect a lot of data. Most of these brave men and women look physically fit and sharp, like they have their act together and they know what they are doing. The kind of people who, in an emergency, you would feel quite comfortable following the instructions they would provide. This guy, not so much.

So we are quenching the thirst of our fossil fuel consuming machines. I am making note of my judging with the heartfelt intention of continuing to try to be less judging in all areas of my life (Namaste, you damn hippies). I say hi to him and smile. He provides the requisite serious nod. I turn to my phone to check on my work email.

Then things take a turn toward the silly. As sometimes happens, when our gas tanks say, “Thanks, I am stuffed. Really, not another drop” and the gas nozzle automatically shuts off, there is a bit of gasoline spillage that runs down our cars and drips on the ground. I hate it when that happens even it is only a 1/2-1 cup of gas.

Then the police officer (PO) pops up his head and says, “You have created an environmental incident and have to pay a fine.”
Me (Thinking I have misheard): Yeah, I hate when the nozzle doesn’t cut off in time and the gas spills.
PO: You committed an environmental violation and you will have to pay a fine to cover the clean up and damage.
Me: Excuse me?
PO: This is an environmental issue, punishable by a fine.
Me: Oh…….ummm….. Oh…..
He stares at the massive toxic chemical spill as it spreads across the concrete, envisioning the impending environmental disaster. I stare at the wet spot about the size of a dinner plate that is already beginning to evaporate.

PO: And this didn’t have happen if you had been paying attention instead of looking at your phone. (To make a point, he stops his nozzle and removes it without a drop spilling (well, maybe a few drops were spilling but it didn’t seem fruitful to point that out))
Me:……… (In my head: Really, Officer Frumpy? What about the automatic nozzle? What about perspective about the actual amount of gas spilled? Is this really how you want our brief interaction to go? One which started with me being fucking nice and saying hello?)
PO: You need to go inside, tell them what you did, and they will document this and fine you.

Now this is a turning point in our story. I have a decision to make. This interaction has, from my prospective, descended into complete silliness.  Not that I am happy to have spilled gasoline, but an “environmental incident” for which I need to go inside, report my heinous offense and face a well-deserved punishment from which society can only pray I learn a valuable lesson and repent my evil cellphone checking, gas spewing ways seems a bit of an over-response.  Do I protest?  Laugh and ignore him? Try to reason with Officer Frumpy? Stand my ground for all who are oppressed by The Man? Get sassy and be an asshole?  Refuse to face my fate?  Make a run for it? Drive home as fast as I can, grab my remaining pets, a change of clothes, leave a note for my daughter, and make a run for Canada?

I chose a different route.   In part because who wants to make a run for Canada with winter coming? However, the primary reason was because of the Random Acts of Kindness gig. I  thought about how his typical day might go. I thought about the stream this human might be swimming in, the monsters and fears that come out from under the rocks on the bottom of that stream.  I could be wrong, Office Frumpy might be a highly respected member of his organization and throughout his world, but I wondered if instead he felt frequently challenged as to his competence and worth.  If he felt like that others would only take him seriously if he constantly demonstrated his grasp of the rules and laws, and that he must always be on guard for receiving lack of respect. I wondered if maybe he felt bad about himself.

I may have been so completely wrong in my assessment of what it might be like to be him that there should have been an additional fine levied against me for such poor assessment skills, but it didn’t matter.  If I was wrong and he is a Rock Star among Federal Officers, it didn’t mater. If I was right, then treating him with sincere kindness was a good way to go.  And so, this human who I imagined was struggling in heavy seas was the recipient of that day’s Random Act of Kindness, whether he knew it or not.

Me: Wow, I had no idea.  Yes, I will definitely go inside, let them know and pay the fine.

Keeping the best straight face I could, I walked inside to to confront my grizzly fate.  As I expected, when I explained the nature of my offense and that I had come to be punished, the young man behind the counter looked bewildered.  I told him the tale of my environmental incident and, although he listened closely, his confusion only grew.  Finally. he blurted out that they don’t write those things down and they don’t fine customers.  He seemed greatly relieved when I accepted this information, wished him a good day, and left without insisting on being punished.

I laughed really hard when I got back to my car.  A gift a laughter from whatever entity oversees the Great Game of RAK.
Addendum: The Universe has the most marvelous sense of humor. When I was leaving work last night, I walked past the security guards, smiled and said good night, went about about 10 steps and realized I left my briefcase in my office. I turned around walked back to the guards, explained I needed to go back. One of the guards, much to surprise of both myself and the other guard, demanded to see my ID. I explained it was in my briefcase….in my office…. He said that once I pass them, I was considered to be “outside” and needed to show ID or have someone sign me in. I said, but I just walked by you, I never left your sight, I turned around without touching the door….. The guard stood his ground. I started laughing and walked away. Well played, Universe, well played.

 

Traffic

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I know a young woman whose husband and family I have been thinking about much this week.

While in Beijing I performed a RAK in helping a little old lady (seriously little, seriously old) get her cart onto the curb after crossing a busy intersection.

IMG_1438.JPG

Traffic in Beijing is fascinating. This is a picture of a fairly quiet street.  Amidst the cars, buses, trucks, scooters, electric carts, bicycle carts, push carts, electric bicycles, bicycles, oh and pedestrians, there is an almost Zen-like flow in the chaos. A flow I would never drive in.  This flow is hard to describe but my observation is that there is indeed a flow. Maybe as long as everyone is driving with the same underlying assumptions that a certain level of reckless abandon and heartfelt belief that others can clearly see how important your travel is relative to their’s and you are merely politely surfing around them as you navigate your way to your Important Destination with your Important Passengers/Cargo/Mission, then somehow it all works. At least most of the time.

This phenomena is curious, worth noting and, I hope you will agree, relevant to RAK. Maybe.  We could get all fancy and talk about all the various sociological, cultural, psychological, historical, political, etc., reasons why this flow amidst the chaos happens, but let’s not. Let’s boil it down.  It generally works even when it is a hot mess because everyone is following the same rules. When you drop a Beijing driver into the U.S., they become a Bad Driver. When you drop a U.S. driver into Beijing, they become a Bad Driver. It’s all about the rules.  When people are not following the same rules, things get messy, car accidents happen (Hint: This just might maybe sort of be a metaphor for human interactions and relationships).

It becomes easy, in fact probably the default, to assume that everyone is following the same rules as we are. Going beyond this, our rules are so deeply ingrained into us, most of us aren’t even aware we have rules. We move through a world our history and experience have created, respond to ghosts from the past (We could say the Ghost of Christmas Past but I feel like we have done enough with Mr. Dickens’ fine holiday classic). It takes a huge amount of effort and practice to step out of the individual streams we are each floundering in (Fuck, should have practiced more in the pool before taking to the open water) and be aware of what comes to us so easily, letting those underlying rules determine how we are.

And it is also really hard to learn other people’s rules, because they don’t know what the rules are themselves. I think to learn their rules you have to do scary things like acknowledge when someone is upset, sad, angry or (and this is killer for me) disappointed in us. We have to find ways to find out why without directly asking why (Hint Relationship Fans: Few things cause more defensiveness than asking someone why they did something), because the person doesn’t know why. We need to ask about feelings and other sticky tar-like substances, listen, be vulnerable, be present with our own scary stuff, go for a swim in their stream which I can assure you has water which is weird and much grosser than the water in your familiar stream.

A small digression: What I would most like to know from the people I love is the answer to the question what are you most afraid of? I don’t mean things that make sense to be afraid of like spiders, heights and clowns. I mean the really scary stuff like fear of being abandoned, a sense that you don’t belong, that you will never be good enough no matter how hard you try, that people only like you because they don’t know just how horrible you are, and fear you are fundamentally unloveable. The stuff that drives the craziest of our rules. I would like to know so I can protect the people I love from these monsters, and, if I can’t protect them, be there with them when these terrors come to them.

Where were we? Oh, yeah… If I were you, at this point point I would ask, “What about you, Mr. Blog, Mr. Random Acts of Kindness? If we all are fucked up in how we live our days and interact with these other Flesh Puppets, what about you? Have you risen above your rules?” To which I say, “Fuck no. Did you not read the part about this taking a lot of effort and practice? What I have I told you in this blog that indicated I was all about embracing effort and practice?” Also go back and read the part about how I have no idea what I am doing as this year unfolds.  I think it may have been in the FAQ, I’m not sure. I can guarantee you that my preferred strategy is to try to placate the upset, sad, angry, disappointed person as soon as possible, without truly knowing why, because obviously that person is having this feeling toward me because of something fundamentally wrong with me and I would rather not have the two of us bring that fundamental wrong into the light of day.  Although I will give myself some credit for knowing that there are rules. I even found my rule book and I am on chapter 4…..well, almost done with chapter 3… Long way to go. Yes, a long way to go.

On the bright side, having committed to a year of Random Acts of Kindness is forcing me to become increasingly aware of my rules and how they affect my interactions. So, see, this is about random acts of kindness.  This rules thing is one of the somethings-I-don’t-have-words-for that is unfolding as I continue to try to be open to what comes from daily RAK.

Back to Beijing traffic! Even if you are not a member of Beijing traffic, you become part of this precarious dance whenever you step off the curb. Crossing the street is not for the timid, nor for the foolish. You must cross with just the right balance of certainty the drivers will stop and awareness the driver may opt to run you over. Personally I think it is a matter of sensing how much the driver is concerned hitting you would dent his car and the driver’s tolerance for paperwork (I think there must be a lot of paperwork to fill out whenever you encounter the Chinese Police, although I am happy to say I have never had an occasion to find out). So in addition to playing the Traffic Game by the same rules, there is also a component of how you move into the world that determines your success or smushed, messy failure. Crap, another metaphor. Sometimes the flexibility and power of language is such a pain in the ass. All right, whatever.

How we approach the frightening task of crossing “the road” has a huge impact on our relationships. Although if chickens can do it, surely we can too. It is all about the awareness you may get squished and still stepping out with confidence and an open heart.  Another way to frame it; a willingness to step out into traffic with the core belief in your value as a human, and caution that there are people who aren’t following your rules, who hold the belief that their goal, their need, their want is more important than your heart. Or perhaps they are simply willing to risk the extensive Chinese police paperwork to get where they are going. One never knows.