Serendipity

I recently had two experiences that really made me think about the complications of our society, and the resulting disconnect that pervades the human race. These were two encounters that easily could have drifted by me, going entirely unnoticed and forgotten. But I’m currently in a serious mode of examining the way we behave toward one another as humans. My thesis project has me immersed so deeply in this question that I am frequently the victim of what results from my own excessive amounts of empathy. At times it seems to ooze from my every pore. It’s not that empathy is a bad thing. Actually, right now, it’s such a good thing. It keeps me going and feeds my desire to complete my project with thoroughness and integrity. But empathy can be emotionally draining. It’s really difficult to feel that you bear the weight of the world on your own two shoulders. I don’t know why this is my reality…it just is. I think I’ve always felt this way, but I’ve never done anything about it. I guess I’m ready to try to do something about it. It’s about time!!

So on to these two experiences. I should preface this with a short explanation about this thesis project of mine. I’ll just say that I have been studying poverty. Rural poverty. You know, those members of the human race whom we never think about…because they are in essence invisible to us? We don’t see them, and so we don’t think about them. There’s another piece to the reality of rural poverty in America, and it’s a very important one. It is about race. The rural poor are, in many locations in our country, disproportionately of one ethnic minority or another. This is not a coincidence. So I have been reading and reading and reading about the cycle of poverty, why it exists, why these people behave the way they do (including things I’ve never understood such as their political beliefs)…and I have to say I’ve come to a deeper level of understanding. Not that I can say I’ve walked in their shoes, or even come close, but I’ve been able to set aside judgments and see through to the core—to the human aspect of these folks. They’re just people, like the rest of us. OK, so on to the experiences…

A couple days ago I was on a Portland city bus, heading downtown for my (unpaid but super-cool) internship job. I’m listening to my iPod because it allows me to drown out all the action of “the crazies.” But over my music, I begin to hear a ruckus, so I turn it off and listen…and watch. There are several people yelling at each other, calling each other names, threatening to fight, ready for mutiny. Finally the bus driver tells them all to shut up or get off the bus, and they do (shut up, that is). I didn’t hear it all, but I believe there was some sort of racial component to this argument. I could see in the eyes of at least a few of these fighting people that they were just fighting because this is what they’ve always had to do. I witnessed what I’ve only been reading about. I sat in the presence of Portland’s poor. Though not rural, they are still poor. And they fight—with each other, with everyone—not because they are bad people, but because it’s what they know. They’ve lived their lives fighting—probably for everything, even survival—and so this is what they do. It breaks my heart. I see these people so differently already…and if nothing more comes from my studies, it was worth it.

Fast forward one day to Tuesday, November 4. Election Day. I was in a bar with some friends, watching the results as they poured in. It was truly a celebration, and it was great to be in the presence of so many people who were passionate about the change we so desperately need in this country-in-shambles. The election had been called. Obama won. I’m sitting in my seat, watching the crowd, and I make eye contact with an older African American man. He looked to be near tears…with hope. We connected for just a second, didn’t say a word, but his eyes said it all. He was overcome with emotion at the realization that a black man was just elected to be his President. Obviously my eyes communicated something as well, because as he walked past me, he gently placed his hand on my shoulder for a moment, and kept walking. I will never forget his face, or this interaction.

I think I am overcome with the realization that we are all members of the human race—locally and globally. Yet we live and breathe and exist in such a segregated fashion that we are born ignorant and we continue to breed ignorance. These two experiences were truly serendipitous events, arriving in my lap at a time when I am engrossed in these questions about humanity. And it brings me back to a beautiful quote that I have posted on the wall above my desk:

“The world is not respectable; it is mortal, tormented, confused, deluded forever; but it is shot through with beauty, with love, with glints of courage and laughter; and in these, the spirit blooms…” –George Santayana

Expression

Most of us feel the need to express ourselves in one form or another. Those who are not inherently good at the typical expression process (verbal human interaction) tend to find other ways to do so. And this is how we get art. For some it is visual art, for some it is music, and for others it is writing. I believe that for anyone who feels the need to create art, it is a very personal thing...and isn't necessarily about making something beautiful. It's about making something that is an expression of the creator. And as we all know, with any kind of art - some will get it, some will identify with it, some will hate it, some will think it's pointless. Some will view another's art as the concrete thing that communicates the artist's madness. But that's ok. The point is expression. And so I express...

A little piece of my in-progress thesis project: