Tell Me Your Story
I sit in an ethics class and we examine an ethical dilemma in the daily newspaper. We discuss the shooting of an African American male by a New York City police officer. I am vocal in my defense of the police officer, citing the challenges of facing fearful, frightening situations day after day. I put myself in his shoes and share my views from his perspective.
After I finish, an African American student turns around and speaks in a soft spoken voice. I listen, as he shares his story. It is a story not unlike the teens who come through my door daily… sports, activities, school, and friends. Yet, his story veers dramatically when he speaks the words his mother tells him. “When you get pulled over by the police, be respectful and don’t give him any reason at all to arrest you.”
“When.” Not “if.” The matter of fact way she uses the word, “when” moves me to the core. I don’t raise my son with the expectation that he WILL be pulled over. It’s an “if.” This young man continues to state the countless times he has been detained and questioned by the police. His tone is matter of fact, yet resigned. A middle aged African American woman begins to share her story of a businessman husband who is regularly pulled from the security line at the airport for questioning (these were pre 9/11 days). She says he is often embarrassed as he travels with white co-workers who witness this recurrent act.
I do some research and learn this: Just as I have a list of life lessons I teach my children, African American mothers have their own list. At the top of this list is the imperative of learning how to act when talking to a police officer. They know it will happen again and again. And again.
Your reactions to the above story will be shaped by your own story. It will be shaped by your life experience, the friends in your inner circle, your neighborhood, your income, your profession, the people whom you have met, the ideology of your parents and friends, the newspapers and books you read, your personality type, and your religious and/or spiritual faith. The gifts and the wounds you carry flavor your reactions. Your ability to touch the most heartfelt place of your own story, add another dimension.
I cannot speak of the African American experience because I am a white woman. I cannot speak of the journey of cancer for I have never sat in a chair and heard a doctor give me a diagnosis that would profoundly alter my life. Neither can I understand the experience of an Afghan woman living under the burkah nor that of the Iraqi mother who lives in fear for her childrens’ lives and future. I have not lived the life of a soldier nor have I had to shoot a gun to save my life or the lives of others. I have not lived a life scarred by war, poverty and hopelessness nor have I endured the pain of abuse or addiction. These are not my stories. I have my own.
I do have a sort of fellowship with those who have loved and lost someone to cancer. I know the grief of losing a family member too young and the abounding gratefulness for friends who help heal an aching heart. I have watched a husband care for a father with Parkinson’s disease so my attention heightens whenever I hear of someone walking that journey. I understand the fear of a radical life change and embarking on a new career path. I know the risk and loneliness of taking an unpopular stance and holding ground when my foundations begin to shake and respected leaders reveal their human flaws.
These are just some of my stories. What are yours? For whom do you feel an uncommon empathy? Chances are, the compassion is rooted in your story. Have you noticed how your judgments soften when you or someone you love has walked the walk of anything from depression to addiction to homosexuality to financial loss to weight gain to divorce?
In my coaching practice and the classes I teach, I notice that those who face the truth of their own story are remarkably open to others. Their judgments soften and they listen more deeply. They know that just as our lives are full of moments infused with joy and grace, there are also moments of disappointment and sorrow.
Our capacity for compassion is in direct proportion to our ability to own our story, touch our own truth and forgive ourselves and those who have hurt us. It is rooted in the awareness that I can never fully understand your story for I have not walked in your shoes. Yet, I can listen with an open mind and an open heart.
Compassion is not pity nor is it a call to “victimhood.” It simply says, “If I were born in another time or another place with a different face from a different mother, my story might be more like yours.” We walk together in compassion because your story is ultimately my story. We connect in the desire for love, appreciation, and simple kindness.
Compassion is not a call to moral relativism-challenging decisions must be made. My ethics professor encouraged us to hold opposing views and contradictions in a tenuous balance. Then, he taught us to present a coherent position and a workable solution. Yet, the most valuable insight he gave us was the moral imperative to never cease listening to others. He taught us to have the courage to change our minds when necessary. He led by example when he resisted demonizing those whose worldview was unlike his.
He taught me to listen in a whole new way. Resist assuming a righteous, superior stance. Maintain a willingness to hear another perspective especially when it conflicts with one I defend. Pay close attention the marginalized in the community, the workplace and the world-those with less power have a particularly difficult time getting their story to be heard.
The power of the story is unparalleled. The power of compassion lies at the core of every religious and wisdom tradition. We live in a time of war, uncertainty and political and cultural divisiveness. The times call us to understand our own story-its gifts and limitations and surrender to the realization that others have an equally compelling story to tell. Listen and know you are the mustard seed who can transform the world.
Books and movies have the power to tell unheard stories that move us deeply. I share some of my recent favorites-perhaps you can spend an afternoon during the holiday season and step into an unknown world:
Books that Widened My Perspective:
Fiction:
Reading Lolita in Teheran by Azar Nafisi
Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien
The Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Falling Leaves by Adeline Yen Mah
My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult
Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver
The Color Purple by Alice Walker
The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
Traveling Mercies Anne Lamott
Ishmael by Daniel Quinn
The Old Turtle by Douglas Wood (Children’s book)
The Old Turtle and the Broken Truth by Douglas Wood (Children’s book)
Non-Fiction:
Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd
Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser
The Cloister Walk by Kathleen Norris
The Power of Personal Storytelling: Spinning Tales to Connect with Others by Jack Maguire
Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankel
Night by Elie Wiesel
Go to www.amazon.com for synopses and reviews
Films That Enlighten and Share Another Perspective. (These are the recent films I can’t get out of my mind)
The Insider
Hotel Rwanda (documentary)
Super Size Me (documentary)
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy
Dead Man Walking
The Mission
Finding Neverland (grownups will love this reminder to never lose a sense of wonder)
If you have any books or films to recommend, I would love to hear-I am always on the look out for good reads and good films.