Tag Archives: anxiety

RAK Before 7:00 AM

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Woods 2014-10

Random Acts of Kindness: A one year challenge

I know a woman who just had an important article published in the scientific journal Translational Medicine that highlighted how easy it is for people to dismiss other people as people, especially within the social media space: 1) Link to Article http://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s13142-014-0256-1 2) Journal’s Press Release: http://www.springer.com/gp/about-springer/media/springer-select/fat-chats-the-good-the-bad-and-the-ugly-comments/35816 3) New York Times coverage: http://op-talk.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/10/03/shamed-flamed-harassed-what-its-like-to-be-called-fat-online/?_php=true&_type=blogs&_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=1&

I like to get up early in the morning.  I probably would have made a good farmer given that they are always up early milking the chickens and other farmer stuff.  When I wake up, I often feel like my brain is in a calm state of purring along in neutral.  If this lasts for more than a few minutes that is a special day that should be noted on the calendar.  Like an auditorium filling with students, thoughts about my day almost immediately begin to trickle in, as the seats fill so does the noise level.  Before long, the place is packed and noisy as thoughts about the day ahead come pouring in; tasks that must be addressed, crisis that need to be mediated, worries about the troubles of people I am close to, conflicts I need to step into and help resolve, responsibilities ahead and those I left un-dealt with from previous days, not to mention my own worries, sadness, anxiety and anger (who let those guys in?). When I have the wherewithal to attend to the process of this gathering, I am surprised and amused at how rapidly I can go from being calm and centered to completely engrossed in being projected into my day and far into my past.  If this were a marketable skill, you would be seeing me on the cover of Forbes, ooohh or perhaps winning an Olympic medal for sprinting away from being anything close to in the present moment, sort of an anti-Zen award.

I have been working on this “being present” shit for quite a while.  Incorporating RAK into my days has contributed to this Damn Hippie process as I must try to pay more attention (at least sporadically), to make an effort (and it is an effort for me) to be present.

A bit of context for the random act of kindness I am writing about today. I walk my dogs in the morning (they are complete wussies when it comes to heat).  For several years, before taking on this challenge, I have tried to pay attention while on these walks; I like walking in the woods, we often see cool things like deer (Yesterday a large owl sitting in a tree which, I cannot lie, was truly awesome!!).  But no matter how beautiful the woods, inspiring the sunrise, the day ahead barges in and demands attention. Sometimes these rude intrusions occur when my brain doesn’t even have anything to say and is just being obnoxious and flexing its distraction muscles.  For example, on this morning’s walk, the children’s song “As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with 7 wives….” was playing over and over again in my head. Seriously? Seriously?? Are you fucking kidding me? You couldn’t just enjoy the sunrise for a few moments?  St. Ives??

With this as backdrop, I want to point to a RAK from a few weeks back (Yes, remember I am so taking credit for RAKs I did in the weeks before I decided to tackle a whole year).  This was about a week after The Woman I Know had passed away. It was shortly after dawn and Etta and I were coming out of the woods and walking through part of our neighborhood.  We came upon a well-dressed woman who had just done a nice job of parking in her friend’s flowerbed. As she stood next to her car, assessing her handiwork, I said good morning to her.  She apologized for parking so poorly.  I said I hadn’t noticed (A lie) but I didn’t think it really mattered that much (A truth). We both (well actually the 3 of us because Etta stopped to smell the flowers or what was left of them) took a moment to look at the flower bed, and, in rapid disjointed sentences, her story gushed out.

Of all weird things, she was on her way to her best friend’s funeral in Philadelphia. Never a morning person, she was completely disorganized, kept losing her train of thought and just couldn’t get her shit together to actually leave town in order to be at the funeral on time.  She started crying and doing that hand-wavy-thing that some people do when they get really upset. Then she stopped crying, told herself to pull it together, then looked at me and told me she didn’t know what to do.

What did I do next?  Some heroic gesture like drive her to Philly?  Maybe go the other direction and steal her purse?  No, those things are outside the rules of RAK (not to mention just plain silly).  What I did do was tell her she was not alone in her pain.  I told her about the death of This Woman I know, her grieving husband and the large circle of friends who were struggling and hurting.  I told her that I understood how much this sucked, how awful this pain was.  I tried to squeeze as much being fully present with this person for this single moment as I possibly could. When Etta and I walked away, she called me her “angel” and said I saved her.  I laughed and told her to remember to breath.  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I am an Evil Genius, and I waited to turn the corner before doing a happy dance for completing my RAK for the day before 7:00 in the morning.

Our whole interaction lasted less than 5 minutes.  Our interaction didn’t take away her pain, didn’t fix this fucked up situation- nothing could do that.  I think it did reduce her isolation and spinning in her broken heart, even if for a short time.  I hope she thought of that moment throughout her awful day.  I have no clue if she did. For me, it was a powerful moment that has stayed with me and I continue to try to understand.

Although I most certainly wouldn’t have been rude, I would have kept walking after smiling and providing my initial socially acceptable lie-truth comment.  But the inspiration from the Woman I Know and her husband put me in a different space that morning, a space where I stopped to really take notice of another person, found them to be suffering, and then to fully be with them, even if for only a few minutes.

Maybe part of it is about not being so alone in our saddest (or happiest) moments?  Offering our courage to others who have run out because it feeds us all? And desperately hoping they will offer their courage to us when we run out of our own? I did warn you I have a propensity for the Hallmark moment and sappiness. Although, even if my words are headed for the script of a bad made-for-TV movie, I think there is something in what I am saying, something important, something that might be “true.”  Maybe this year of random kindness will help root out that “that” that my words fail to capture.  Or not.

 

Airports

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Airplane Clouds #2 2014Airplane Clouds 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Random Acts of Kindness: A one year challenge

I know a young woman whose husband is grieving.

In my experience, airports are places where a large number of the people are spinning in anxiety and trying to control it with whatever skills they have, which often amounts to being angry and “overly assertive.”  Of course, not everyone is anxious or airports would have melted under the emotional radioactive fallout many years ago, but there is certainly enough to be setting off the Geiger counters.

By its very nature, an airport is a particularly difficult place to be present.  The whole purpose of an airport is to be anywhere but here, to as quickly as possible be in some other moment than the one presented by the airport.  Add to this that much of our fellow travelers show up at the airport flustered, stressed , probably tired and, according to at least one member of the traveling team, running late (I told you we should have left 30 minutes earlier; Who takes the fucking beltway at this time of day??).  And now the coup de grace, at the airport we are laser focused on achieving what we feel into our very marrow to be a crucial, tightly defined objective (Must. Get. Out.) AND almost every aspect of this airport endeavor is completely out of our control.  You cannot control the security lines, flight delays, how far your gate is, connecting flights, who your new plane friends will be, ….. Hell, you don’t even get to drive the plane for part of the trip anymore (Ok, I made that one up).  You get to buy the ticket, which hopefully more or less matches your needs.  After that, you pretty much got nothing that is within your power to change.

Now I am sure that this says something weird about me, but for me, the most stressful part of this ritual?  Getting to the airport and finding parking.  After I find parking and walk into the terminal, I am pretty much good for whatever happens next.  Weird, right, but we all have our special pressure points.  At some point, I should probably explore why I am such a cool dude, after parking, but today is not that day.  Today: Airports and RAK

Given all this near desperate neediness and worry, air ports are a RAKing shopping mall.  You cannot swing your  “one personal item” with your iPhone, iPad and laptop in it, along with a stash of snacks in case you don’t want to pay  $12 for a can of Pringles on the plane, without hitting someone who would benefit from a random act of kindness.  Indeed, probably benefit greatly from the smallest of kindnesses. AND it is also a jungle filled with  fierce, angry, cornered beasts with sharp teeth and claws….also known as our fellow travelers.  “Not at their best” would be a delicate way to describe the fact that under these circumstances many people embrace their inner asshole.  Some of our fellow blobs of flesh are not in the mood to embrace kindness at this time.  This sucks for all who encounter them, even “nice” people.

Airplane Clouds #3 2014

And, once again, a legitimate question would be what is his point?  Can he please just get to his point?  Thank you for your patience, but we needed context .  This is the point, why do we offer Random Acts of Kindness?  Cui bono? Latin for “to whose benefit?”  (I wish I could say that I knew that because I am so fucking cultured, but I heard it in a talk a few weeks back and it really struck me).  Anyway, cui bono?    To whose benefit?  Are we doing this RAK shit because we expect that people will be grateful?  That everyone we meet will be so impressed by our kindness?  That people’s lives will be changed because of a brief interaction, albeit a unique and potential powerful one?  The bitter truth is that not everyone (fools that they are) will recognize the gift we are offering.  Some people will tell us to fuck off, or at best look at us with suspicion and mistrust, which is fair given the aversive world so many of us encounter every day.

Who thinks this suck and it hurts their feelings?  Me, me, pick me!!  Truth; it hurts my feelings and kind of wounds me when this happens.  I usually just slink away like a sad little puppy.  Of course later on I am like, “Hey, fuck you, Mr. Man, and your grumpy self.  I was being fucking kind.  I hope you get run over by a garbage truck!  Fucker….” (More sad self).  Cui bono?  Why am I doing this?

Hanging my head in shame here.  As much as I would love for this to be about me (and prizes), on some level I get that it can’t be about me .  If I am truly engaging in the RAK Challenge, I need to be open to however people respond including that not everyone is going to be in a place where what I have to offer matters or is accepted.  And when someone rejects my RAK, it still counts as a RAK (full credit!) and I have to keep doing this, because it is about being in the world in this way for a year, even when it would be a lot more fun to be home eating chips and watching bad TV.  Damn.  Maybe I will get extra credit for RAK in the face of adversity?

So, at the airport a couple days ago, returning from a few days of helping to care for a family member with Alzheimer’s Disease (A whole long story for another post down the road).  There was a young woman with a small child and a baby who were clearly Spawn of Satan, or maybe simply 2 small children up too early in the morning and in a strange place with a totally fried mother…either way.  It was not going well; crying infant, small child embracing the freedom that only the wide open plains that are the airport terminal halls can offer, mother struggling with carry on, coffee and smartphone.  Obviously an opportunity to offer a random act of kindness, right?  Yeah, not so much.  My offer to help her find her gate and arrive without dropping her baby on its pumpkin head was firmly rejected.  On the bright side, seeing a strange man talk to her mom did draw the carefree lass back closer to the protection of the herd.   So, I picked up my wounded self and went on my way.  Of course, turning the whole interaction over in my head in a Tasmanian Devil whirling tornado of thoughts that alternated between self-righteous anger and self-deprecating criticism.  Somehow in this maelstrom, I was able to step back and think about this women’s world and where she psychologically was, and how interacting with me fit into her day. Cui bono?   And, yes, ouch, that sucked, and it was not about me.

I did help an old lady get a massive suitcase off the baggage carousel later that day, so clearly a check mark in the win column for me.