The Case for Care in the Face of Sympathy

I come from a rough neighborhood; that’s no secret.  Where I grew up, people were gruff, rough, and tough.  In fact, here’s a typical greeting; and seriously, no bullshit, verbatim: “Joe!  How the hell are you, you fat fucking bastard?  Life treating you good or what?”

Realness.  You know this guy cares about Joe; asking him how he is with a not so subtle reminder that he should probably eat less pizza and start walking more.  And, to get on ancestry dot-com to find his father, because all bastards should know who their dad is.

Ah, I miss that.  No fake, pretentious, politically correct, empty, hoping I’m better than you are, kind of shit greeting: “Oh, hey Joe.  Good to see you.”  No it’s not.  Shit, I hope he doesn’t talk to me.  How long does it take to make a latte?  Come on!

Yep.  The atmosphere just got a bit shittier.

Down south, you could be on the side of the road in the rain, changing a flat tire and people will drive by and say, “Oh, bless his heart.”  Useless.  Meanwhile, in Philly, they’ll pull over and help you change that tire, cursing you the whole time, for getting them wet.

How about this from Anthony Jeselnik?  I think this really hits the nail on the head.  He says, “People see some horrible tragedy in the world and they run to the internet.  They run to their social media; facebook, twitter, whatever they got, and they all write down the exact same thing: ‘My thoughts and prayers …’.  Do you know what that’s worth?  Fucking nothing.  Your’e not giving your time, your money, or even your compassion.  All you’re doing is saying, “Don’t forget about me today.”

Funny, but there’s a good bit of truth to that.  I get it though.  When there’s nothing you can actually do, you want to offer some words of sympathy.  However, put some thought into it, instead of some canned bullshit words.

Now, at this point in my life, I’m about 50% removed from inner city Philly, so I’ve come to understand that most people are fragile, easily offended, and will gossip about you to anyone who will listen about how bad of person you are, because you use “Fuck” as a noun, adjective, verb, adverb, and pronoun and anywhere else it’ll fit.  Everyone has some kind of an accent.  Cursing and sarcasm is part of mine.  But, in many places, it scares the shit out of people, so I try to curb the accent a bit.  I fail, a lot.

But!  But, I cannot bring myself to say empty things, like “Prayers”.  Ugh!  No, I’ll say things like this: “I’ll mow your lawn, you can stay at my house, I’ll pick up your groceries, I’m on my way over with bourbon, I’ll walk your dog, take your trash out, change your tire, pick up your kids from practice, give you money, and sit with you at the hospital.”

The weird thing is … I often get silence or a blank stare as if people don’t recognize honest sincerity and care.  Remember Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality, when Stan (William Shatner) asks, “What is the one most important thing our society needs?”  And she responds with what is truly important to her, “That would be harsher punishment for parole violators, Stan.”  Crickets.  To break the awkward silence, she finally says, “And … world peace.”  To which, everyone cheers.

We’ve taken the care out of care and replaced it with, “Hugs”, “Prayers”, “world peace”, and “Bless your heart”.  Sympathy with no actual help.

It’s like, if I say “Bless his heart”, I’m excused from all guilt of not doing anything.  It’s like saying four hail Mary’s or something.  Not sure how that works, but I’ve heard things.

Sometimes we can’t help or simply don’t want to and we shouldn’t feel guilty about it.  It is what it is.  We’re not obligated to the universe in any way.  Sometimes we help and sometimes, we don’t feel like getting wet or putting our lives in danger or on hold to help someone.  It’s okay.  We’re human.  No worries.

But please, instead of “hugs”, say something real or nothing at all.  And please don’t hit the “like” button.  My fucking dog just died, dumbass.  He was an ugly, fat fucking bastard, but we loved him.

With all sincerity, Namaste.

Photo by Robert Bye on Unsplash

Can You Make My Daughter Taller?

Sometimes, the problem isn’t the problem and solving for X won’t get you to Y … or, why.

Finding the right solution takes care.  Care to question linear thinking, to step back, observe, process information, allow for imagination, trust your instincts, and try to connect dots.  Then you have to be so bold as to trust yourself for what you came up with and run with it and make adjustments in the field in real time.

About ten years ago, I got a call from a friend who was working with a client and said he gave the guy my cell phone number, because he was looking for someone to work with his daughter and after listening to him, he thought of me.  Of course, I started asking questions and he said he’d rather let the guy explain it directly to me.  Um … okay?

So the guy called and told me about his daughter.  She was fourteen years old and 5’,1”.  All of her friends at school were taller than her.  And then, he says this: “Can you make my daughter taller?”  Yeah, I know.  Before I responded with science, I stopped myself and asked if we could all meet.  Not sure why I did that.  We met at his home, which turned out to be a multi-million-dollar mansion.  Not too shabby.

He greeted me at the door and as we entered the living room, there was his lovely family.  Awesome people.  I sat on one sofa facing the other where his wife, daughter and her older brother sat, while he took the chair to the right.

It was abundantly clear that they loved their children very much and just wanted their daughter to be happy.  They told me they saw doctors, nutritionists, and personal trainers, but now out of desperation and a chance phone conversation with my friend, here I am.  Reasoning with her and reassuring her wasn’t going to work.  We humans are emotional creatures.  Even though we process logic through the neo-cortex, what drives us, comes from the limbic system and that part of the brain doesn’t give a shit about your logic.  Sorry, Doc.

So after about twenty minutes, her father looked at me and asked, “Can you help her?”  That was the question; “Can you help her?”  The word “taller” wasn’t in the question.  I paused, looked at his daughter, then back to him and his wife and said, “I think so.”  We scheduled our first session for that coming Saturday morning.

As I drove out through the guard gate, I thought, “What the hell did I just get myself into?  Why did I tell them I could help?”  On the way home, I just stared out the windshield.  When I got home I pulled out all my books and notes from my martial arts training, my textbooks on kinesiology, physiology, nutrition, and athletic training, as well as articles on puberty and how that affects hormones and growth.  I even had a book on yoga at that time, but I was no yogi.  Still not.

I sat there for hours on the floor, surrounded by books, science, and logic.  Then for no real reason, I picked up one of my martial arts books and as I skimmed through it, it hit me; “This girl isn’t short.  She just sees herself as short.”

I put together a routine that incorporated ancient martial arts exercises with whole body and mind functional training.  Lots of breathing and concentration.  I approached her as a human, not a project or a problem to solve.  It was more about her interconnectedness, mind, body, and soul.

Even though the training wasn’t easy, I kept the atmosphere light with wit and humor.  I’m a comedian at heart.  She began to open up more, engage in what we were doing, and ask questions.  She even smiled and began to joke around as she applied herself more and more.  Ah, there’s a person in there and she’s pretty cool.

We trained out back by their pool.  An amazing setting.  I would always park in the driveway and carry my mats and gear around the side yard to set up.  But one evening, as I was unloading my gear, her father came out to meet me.  This was unusual, as I normally just met everyone out back.  As he spoke, he got a bit glassy-eyed.  He thanked me, handed me a bonus check, and said that they’ve seen some incredible changes in their daughter; that she seemed happier and more confident.  Not taller.  And he hugged me.  Did I mention these people really love their kids?  Awesome.

I ended up training the whole family and they enjoyed having that time together in one space.  They were busy people.  And as far as her getting taller, time took care of that naturally.

Sometimes, the problem isn’t the problem and solving for X will not get us to why.

Cheers.

Photo by allef.viniciusa on Unsplash.