That Poor Bee and the Woman Who Dithered



Rylan, to whom empathy comes naturally 

Rylan,  a three-year old  I know, got his first bee sting last week and cried because the bee died.   (I asked Jerry about that, and he said only social bees like honeybees sting and it kills them because it rips out their ovipositor/stinger, "like ripping its guts out," fyi.)

Later that week, when  I felt lousy and had to cancel a visit with a friend, she wrote:

"A busy social schedule is such a mixed blessing?  It's great to be with people I enjoy, yet it does take energy, which I feel I have to ration for fear of running out of steam and staring blankly at someone I'm trying to converse with...Is chronic fatigue like this only doubled or tripled?  Don't really have a sense of what you have to cope with."

But she does have a sense, and a pretty accurate one.  That's exactly what it's like!  I was so relieved, and I felt understood.   She accepted her own disappointment and consoled my misfortune.

Is that what empathy is?  Whatever, I was really grateful. 

Heroes to me:  Rylan-the-three-year-old and Lin (several decades older).

* * *

 



Around 3:50 on Monday at the Food Pantry, a thin woman in her forties appeared, a familiar face.  I mention "thin," because there's something insubstantial about her,  unfocused, dithering.  I saw my co-volunteer, Barbara, react subtly when she recognized this woman. 

Oh, no!  I thought.  Not her, and not right at closing time.

She was undecided about whether she wanted to pick up her holiday bag as well as her regular monthly bags.   She called a friend on her cell phone to see if she could pick her up.  I waited while she talked.

Another last-minute client appeared, and  I had to ask her to step aside.  The clock ticked toward 4 pm, when the Pantry closes and when the volunteers are eager to leave.

Barbara brought out the woman's bags.  Still the woman talked on the phone near the check-in table. Finally, I moved the bags just outside the door (hint).  I announced that we were closing. 

The woman hung up her phone and wandered toward the table with boxes of donated bread from Semifreddi's.  She picked up a loaf, put it back, picked up another.  She was looking for a loaf of ciabatta.  My impatience was growing.  Other volunteers were sweeping, taking out garbage, closing the louvered windows.  I announced again that we were closing.  Barbara was trying to help her find what she wanted.

Finally, the woman went outside, loaf in hand, after 4 pm.

"Ack!" I said, after she left.  "She's always a pain."

"Definitely," said Barbara (who is an exceptionally kind person).

When I went out to the parking lot afterward, I saw the woman slowly walk off with her two bags, a slight, bent figure.  She's an unemployed teacher, lists herself as homeless, is probably couch-surfing with friends.  No doubt she's lonely and probably depressed.  For all I know, she tries to drag out her time at the Pantry because she gets to be around other people.

I saw her put down her bags at a bus stop.  For the first time since she'd walked in the door, I felt sorry for her.  Long day at the Pantry = empathy shut-down.  Not good.

 

* * *

 

Yesterday, my friend Laura posted a link to a blog post that felt relevant to all this.  A man was  constantly calling up "if onlys"--things he could have done to prevent a devastating personal tragedy. 

 

A grief counselor said to him, "You don't want to admit that you don't have control, so you look for the error you made.  You didn't have control.  None of us have control.  Everything is not in our hands."

Which is scary to hear.  But I think a lot of us look for the error other people made that landed them in trouble.  It's scary to think people have no control over bad things that happen to them.  The man in the blog post was blaming himself.  But I think lots of us blame other people, too, which is a giant cork on the well of empathy that I think most of us are born with.

 

People have blamed me for being sick.  I began to think the dithering woman wouldn't be in her predicament if she just wouldn't dither.  Lots of conservatives blame poor people for being poor.   I guess doing that relieves some anxiety and distress, some sense of personal vulnerability.  It's harder to be empathic. 

 

But it's wonderful to be treated with empathy--such acceptance and compassion.  What a gift.