Things that are true

One of my career highlights is writing a book on conflict with a good friend of mine. We have spent years diving into the research and human behavior involved in conflict. And despite the, what we think are excellent strategies for engaging in and resolving conflict, we still find ourselves in the midst of emotion-fueled confusion with other humans at times. How can we be so good at this yet still stumble our way through it? For starters, we are all human. We are social beings with complex thoughts and feelings and we are all uniquely different which inherently means we will sometimes disagree. 

Last week at work, I found myself in a fairly tense conversation with someone who works in the grounds department responsible for the property my building is on. We both made several attempts to explain our perspective but they simply didn't align. I finally threw my hands up and calmly said, "we are both saying things that are true." I was simply asking for a truce. What you're saying is right. And what I'm saying is right too. We just hadn't yet discovered the overlap of those truths where the mystery of the situation existed. 

My colleagues who overheard the discussion have brought up my peace offering statement multiple times, "We are both saying things that are true." It was such a powerful pause to allow us to see we are not against each other, we simply haven't figured out how to make space for both truths. And I've started to think about where this conundrum exists in other parts of my life or the broader society. 

You can love your country and want better for it. 

You can believe science and still be confused by it. 

You can support our leaders and still be frustrated by their decisions. 

Masks can be uncomfortable and keep people safe and healthy. 

School can be essential but also risky. 

You can be faithful to your religion and let someone else live by theirs.

You can speak your truth and respect the truth of others. 

The remarkable outcome of speaking these truths together, at the same time, and making room for both (or many) is that the emotional intensity of defending your perspective falls away. When there isn’t a risk of not being seen, it’s easier to pause and see the perspectives you were previously overlooking. In any situation there is not just one but many things that are true. 

You've been BLOCKED!

Given that I was born in 1981, I am technically a xennial - which is exactly right as I have characteristics consistent with typical generation x-ers as well as characteristics consistent with millennials. One of the most distinguishing characteristics of a xennial is that we grew up without social media and the internet as a driving force in our social lives as children and teens but it landed quickly and boldly in our laps immediately as we became young adults. This is important for a few reasons: I already had a degree and my career started before employers searched for my social media links, I was already well beyond my major party years before it became common to post every pic and check in everywhere you go, I experienced intimate relationships - both friendships and romantic relationships face-to-face without the filter of the internet and passive keyboard judgement. It also means that the rapid onset of the internet and social media sometimes throws a wrench in what I think I know about relationships. And what I think I can trust about someone is sometimes limited to what they've chosen to portray through social media. And I'm often surprised by the petty and passive aggressive ways in which people use social media.

So, the first time I realized that someone unfriended me and, gasp, BLOCKED me, it was gut-wrenching. What in the world had I done that would cause someone to eliminate me from existence? And what prevalence did my social media presence have that seemed so necessary to extinguish? Where did I misstep? How can I make sure I'm not erased? How do I know who to trust?

I truly wanted to understand this. I asked a lot of people, have you every blocked someone? Why would you block someone? What impact is it meant to have? And I tried to imagine the same questions for me, what would someone have to do for me to block them? What would be my point? And I couldn't really come up with an answer at first. A few years ago, I had unfollowed a handful of people on one social media platform who had made several explicit offensive, prejudice, and closed-minded posts. I created a social media world that felt safe and matched my views almost exactly. I learned very loudly through the last presidential election that move to tailor my porthole view to my preference made me naively oblivious to the bigger picture. I was caught off guard by the outcome of the election because I chose not to see people that thought differently than me. It also occurred to me that my action of unfollowing them had no impact on them whatsoever. I immediately re-followed everyone and carefully processed their perspectives. What was the point of unfollowing them in the first place? I had unfollowed them to feel “safe” but their posts weren’t harmful to me. It was my inability to process other perspectives that was the real threat.

I had thought by placing these digital blinders in my life, I was applying a layer of safety but in reality I was increasing my risk of injury because I couldn't see what else is out there. In order to assess all angles and potential risk, we have to bravely remove the blinders even if there are things we don't want to see, hear, feel, or experience. It doesn't mean we have to follow or be friends with everyone we meet and certainly our social media experiences should be tailored to our personal boundaries but it's worth giving careful consideration to our actions and presence in the social media world. Are we blocking people from our lives because they are toxic or because we are afraid of confronting our own difficulty with perspectives different than our own?

Apples

I have committed my life to helping others, as an educator and as a volunteer. In my volunteer work, I have spent several years working with the homeless population to provide educational services for children, safety for women and children victims of abuse, temporary housing while people look for work, and serving food in community kitchens for people living on the street or in shelters. This is not my occupation for compensation but it’s a key piece of my commitment and life’s work.

I share with you this extensive background to provide context for this story: 

Recently I was attending a professional conference in a large city on the west coast of the US. Our lunches were generously provided as part of the conference in the form of boxed meals. They were quite large and most people were not able to eat all of it. Many people left uneaten portions on the tables for someone else to help themselves - whole apples, unopened bags of chips, wrapped cookies - you get the idea.

Several hours later, much of the leftover food was still there. It’s hard for me to see perfectly good food go to waste when there are so many people in need. I was headed out to dinner so I decided I could gather up this food in my purse and give it to people that needed it as we walked along. I gathered about 6 apples, 4 granola bars, 2 suckers, and a bag of chips. It was heavy but I knew the load would lighten gradually but also quickly. 

No amount of good intention could have changed how this went. First, unless someone is holding a sign, it’s actually pretty tricky to pick out someone who is homeless and hungry. Attire is a terrible indicator of someone’s housing and hunger status. Most of my prior experience with homeless people who are hungry occurred in situations in which they were coming to me to provide a service. In this instance, I was attempting to seek them out. No biggie, I just narrowed my plan to people holding signs stating that they were hungry. 

The first man I saw with a sign asking for food, I walked over to him, smiled, and handed him an apple. He didn’t take the apple. Instead he laughed at me. For a moment, I was dumbfounded. He’s hungry. I’m offering food. What’s the problem? He made eye contact with me, offered a closed-lip smile, then gradually let his lips part to reveal that he had no teeth. Then he said with a laugh, “that’s not gonna work lady, I ain’t got no teeth. What’choo got in that bag I can suck on?” I was mortified but quickly offered him choices from the rest of what I had and he took a sucker and the chips. He smiled and said thanks and walked off. 

I put the apple back in my bag and walked back to my colleagues with a cloak of shame. I felt so proud to be the type of person who does kind things for other people but I missed the mark. I was approaching generosity through my lens, my idea of what someone needed, not adjusting my focus to pay attention to what the other person actually needed. My colleagues reassured me that anyone could make that mistake and I was simply trying to do something nice. This was especially startling for me given my background working with homeless people and specifically in the community kitchens, I know that people request special meals due to the condition of their teeth. I didn’t apply my experience, I didn’t pay attention to the need. 

I carried the apples around for hours. At one point, my friend suggested that I leave them somewhere clean and someone who wanted them would take them. And I did. Eventually. But first I need to carry them around for a bit. I need to feel the weight of my mistake, just for a few hours to help me reflect on what happened but also where this happens in other parts of my life - in what ways do I try I be helpful but fail to apply my prior knowledge or truly pay attention to what someone’s need is? 

I think about his experience often. It should’ve been obvious. But it wasn’t. I should’ve known better. But I didn’t. It was an excellent opportunity to learn about the way I see the world, the way I engage, and the tremendous room for growth I have. I’m grateful for this man for laughing and helping me understand. I get it; if I truly want to be helpful, I need to see through the lens of others, not my own. This applies to how we love others, how we teach children, how we approach issues of equity. We need to shift our focus and respond accordingly. Their lens. Not ours.