I was at dinner with friends the other night, and one friend remarked how much she hates people. In fact, she said, she's starting to hate people more and more. It was funny because she's not a sociopath.
That brought up something that I've been thinking about: I'm liking people more and more. I said this to my friends, with slack jaw, dopey grin and wide eyes. The kind of look that would make you say, "Oh, no, you don't want to like me. I'm a terrible person," while backing up and fumbling for the pepper spray.
But you know what? I like those people too. Those funny, suspicious people. The ones who reflexively say to approaching, smiling strangers, "No, I don't have thirty seconds for the environment." I like those people because they want to be smiled at without being asked to sign a petition, and that's a legitimate wish. I like them because, like me, they don't know a single person in their whole apartment building, probably live a good five hundred miles from where they grew up, and quickly warm up to any genuine offer of community that they receive. I know this because they are human, and because I am too.
Only connect.
In cities full of strangers, it can be terribly difficult for two individuals to connect. All of the old guideposts are gone: We typically can't tell whether we have the same religion, or any religion; we can't tell what town we're from, but it's often not the town we're wandering around; we can't tell our political leanings or our economic status or our how nice we are to our parents. Most of the time, our dour faces won't even betray our moods. Sunglasses hide our eyes. Headphones plug our ears. Purpose snaps our lips into thin lines. We walk quickly.
But we all crave the same thing: to connect. Even the ones who say they disdain people want this -- and if they're playing such offense, it's a sure sign that they really want to connect. This desire is coded into their DNA, our DNA, because connecting is how we humans survive. Evolution gave us this need for community, just as it gave us opposable thumbs and a narrow pelvis for walking upright. Generally, humans only isolate if they feel isolated, point if they feel pointed at, discount if they feel discounted.
I see it all around me, in strangers and in friends.
For a spell in my late teens and early 20s, that was me. I was an armadillo. I suppose I felt isolated, pointed at -- why? I don't know -- and so I reflected those feelings. But the very presence of my armor said much more about me than it said about anyone else.
I'm not like that anymore. (If you're very lucky, a bit of age will do that to you.) And now when I meet people whose defenses are clouding their base nature, I feel more compassion than annoyance. They're not bullshitting me any more than they're bullshitting themselves, but it's OK. I get it.
But it is bullshit nonetheless. And I'm pretty sure that the truly happy people in this world don't slog around in their own bullshit all day.
I often think we'd all be more connected and honest if we could get in touch our inner six-year-olds. Kids have no bullshit. They have no capacity for it. Kids are perfect. They smile when they want to smile, cry when they're upset. Even when a child is touched by ugly circumstance, her core is clean and honest and, usually, available.
I was perfect when I was six, and I bet you were, too. At six, my mistakes were innocent, my intentions were pure. At six, I was always in love, with everything. With dolls, with boys, with patent leather tap shoes and a pair of pink shorts that said "Buzz off" on the back pocket. With a Laura Branigan record and a microphone. With Miss Spain, who was my teacher, not an Iberian beauty pageant winner (but every bit as extraordinary to me). I rang neighbors' doorbells and performed choreographed dances when they answered. They cheered.
Now, I try to keep one hand on that girl at all times and let her lead the way. Because when it comes to connecting, she knows what's up. She's my touchstone: If it works for her, it works for me.
That's why I made a decision, about a year ago, to walk around with a smile. Just a small, pleasant smile. And it changes things. People smile back, automatically, because we're programmed to exchange these nonverbal communications and to accept kindness at face value. In urban life, we build little walls around our humanity and staff those walls with little guards in little watchtowers. But when somebody smiles at you for no apparent reason, your little guards freeze. Confused! And before the guards can issue orders ("MAINTAIN! LIPS! DO NOT BREAK FROWN FORMATION!"), you have smiled back. And god damn it if everybody doesn't feel a tiny bit better.
Maybe you figured out ages ago, or maybe you're still not getting it, but here it is: It's not about you. It's about us.
Maybe it took me a little longer to figure that out and incorporate it into my life. I feel a little silly saying that.
But here it is. And here's what I'm doing with it.
1. I'm matchmaking. My relationships don't have to stop with me, so I'm spreading them around. Friends, acquaintances, colleagues -- I have so many good people in my life, and some could benefit from knowing each other. I'm being the conduit for their connections and watching what happens.
2. I'm advocating. I started a local chapter of an organization that I believe in very strongly. The people we help are in desperate need, and I have the ability to help alleviate that need. So I'm doing it. It's highly political (although something of a no-brainer for people on the left and the right, I believe).
3. I'm investing in others. I've known about Etsy.com for a long time, but I've only recently discovered it. I'm blown away by the artwork and by the people behind the art. I'm going to buy exclusively handmade products as gifts for a while because I believe in supporting people who create, either to throw more good into the world or rid themselves of the bad that tries to creep in. And when a thing of art speaks to you, a thing born out of the head and hands of another, you can close the circuit. You can say to the person who created it, "You made something beautiful, and it makes me happy. I am investing in you." That feeds you both.
Today I received a print that I ordered from artist Jeannie Lynn Paske, whose work speaks to me so deeply that I can't easily explain it. I envision a wall of my office lined with her prints. I don't know her, but I don't have to. I feel connected to the part of the artist that creates this art because it expresses something I feel in a medium I cannot master. And I feel grateful to her for making that possible.
4. I'm creating. If I can give someone else that sense of connection, it will all have been worth it.
5. I'm forgiving. That's a verb, not an adjective. Forgiving is such an active task, sometimes requiring constant renewal. People don't always know what to do with you when you try to connect with them. Maybe they're lost. Maybe they're just not interested. Maybe they're hurt and messed up and temporarily closed for business. Regardless, when I feel let down -- especially when someone lets me down repeatedly -- I have a choice: I can get sad or angry, and swear and denounce; or I can step back from the situation and wish, with a heart full of kindness, that they can conquer their demons. I've learned -- and I promise that this, more than anything else, is immutably true -- that other people can't be made to fix themselves, no matter how much I plead or shout or persuade. No matter how much I try to connect. And I've also learned that anger blackens the heart. So when anger tries to move its big, ugly, stinking baggage into my heart, I say, sorry, all I can offer you is the couch. For one night. And I'm not feeding you.
Like I said, maybe you integrated this idea into your life a long time ago. Maybe you think it's nonsense (I think you're wrong). Maybe you're seriously afflicted by a lack of connection or maybe it amounts to nothing more than a minor annoyance in your life. Or maybe you, like me, benefit from the occasional reminder that the world is out there, waiting to connect with you.
If you're walking the world with a scowl, let your lips step out of formation. Your mental guards won't shoot.
If you're slogging around in your own bullshit, maybe after years of feeling disconnected and discounted, well... that's harder. I know it is. But just realize that it's a choice. A conscious choice. And once you realize that, you will have no one to blame but yourself -- and everyone to thank when they accept the hand that you reach out.
