One of my earliest memories was sitting on the steps outside of my ballet school, waiting to be called in for class. Adorned in pink tights and slippers, I sat laughing with my fellow ballerinas. Living in New Orleans granted us a familiarity with “roly polies," or “pill bugs” as they are also known. They were plentiful on that day and always, capturing our undivided attention. Despite their bug lineage, we’d play with them, picking them up, petting their back and watching them curl into tight balls with wonder. It was on that day that another student decided that it would be prudent to pour a rain shower of Tab on them to illicit a different reaction. She referred to the act as a “soda drowning,” and laughed with delight as she watched them struggle. I, in turn, was disgusted. I was able to image what that would feel like in a world where I was the roly poly and they were giants among us. My little life in their hands, and them in turn, taking delight in ‘soda drowning’ me. I ran and doused them with water, a flailing attempt to right the wrong she’d thrusted upon them. I was soon summoned in for class, but the thought of them, and their safety, stuck in my mind for the duration of that day. I believe it was the first harvest in my seed of compassion.
Compassion is defined as “a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune and a strong desire to alleviate the suffering.” I believe that all are capable of compassionate feelings. Compassion, however, is not something that is naturally occurring. In truth, one of my two children was once less compassionate than I would've liked. I first noticed this when there was a death in the extended family. My husband’s grandmother had passed away. He was understandably emotional when explaining her death to the children. In lieu of an embrace or comfort, there was laughter and avoidance. This was the first death in our family that they had been aware of, yet it was a glaringly uncomfortable response for all of us. It was the first instance that I was aware of this conundrum. Previously I’d taken this attribute for granted; that somehow when they were born, they would be fully equipped and aware of responses that are deemed socially correct. As parents, we are tasked with developing our children’s attributes. In that moment was a distinct reckoning with the idea that this was something that not only needed to be addressed in the moment, but continuously fostered over time. But how???? This wasn’t something that could not be developed through weighty lectures, but rather in meaningful actions and authentic examples. We’ve been intentional in exposing them to varied experiences. In both familiar and unfamiliar terrain, we’ve diligently worked to find a commonality and build compassion upon that. I’m proud to say that it has grown within that child and is evident in their stated stances and understanding of everyday occurrences.
Empathy is defined as, “the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.” While we can agree that having empathy is a virtue to be admired, it is often times lacking without the coupled presence of compassion. Feelings produce thoughts. Thoughts produce attitudes. Attitudes produce actions, or inaction. We have all been privy to this idolatry by simply being alive during this political climate. There is a heightened sense of the notion that “if it hasn't happened to me, it doesn't exist.” It is clear in our collective inability or downright refusal to share vicariously in others’ experiences. Reason and understanding have given way to fear and hate. Fear and hate motivate aggression that is baseless and troubling. As a people, we are searching endlessly for common ground. We are rallying together in unprecedented numbers, in desperation of understanding. We are conjuring community in one another, in light of indifference and inaction.
Compassion literally means “to suffer together.” I have been truly disheartened by the recent discourse that has been laid in our laps. Yet I remain unchanged and violently hopeful for tomorrows. My hope that there is a shift in our collective consciousness. A tipping point that will set us on course to a less frenzied tomorrow. Compassion that will allow us to view each other through a lens that is familiar, thoughtful and empathetic. I’m not sure what became of the roly poly that day on those steps. But I walked away with a seed of compassion that was birthed within me. That seed has blossomed into an endless harvest that has colored my world view in the most beautiful of shades, with more than enough to share. And there is no greater treasure than that.
