Frustrated with Humanity by Andrea

frus·tra·tion

frəˈstrāSH(ə)n/

noun

1. the feeling of being upset or annoyed, especially because of inability to change or achieve something.

There is so much happening in America right now that my heart and head cannot fully comprehend. There are people hurting and disillusioned on every side of a dozen different issues plaguing our country.  The thing that saddens me most is no side seems to notice.  No one is listening to anyone whose voice or message differs from his or her own.  We are slowly being conditioned to hate one another for any number of "reasons".  The media is sensationalizing everything.  The politicians are trying to use every challenge to bolster their own agenda or discredit opponents.  Tensions are high, and trust is low.  Everybody has an opinion on what’s wrong with everyone else.  I feel as though I am trapped in a dystopian novel. This has to be The Matrix.   Frankly, I am tired and I have not even been "in the fight" like many people.  I’m frustrated with humanity.  I know I should be engaged with others, but my mind is a whirlwind of exasperation and disappointment.  If I did know what I want to say, I am not sure who will listen.   Some days the ache in my heart subsides a bit, then I log onto the internet. The battle rages anew as I stumble onto an article, news story or campaign by my social media contacts. There are some really egregious events and appalling attitudes circulating out there, and I am overwhelmed. I am despondent, angry, shocked.  I’m frustrated with humanity, but my idealistic heart won’t let me camp out in despair.  I must hold onto hope.

I just want people to love one another.  I want everyone to stop bickering and pandering and proselytizing.  I want everyone to stop staring and gawking and to start seeing.  When my friends are enduring something hard, I like to look directly into their eyes as I check up on them.  In their eyes I can often see what they may be feeling despite the words they say.  I find my own compassion, understanding and humanity in their eyes. When looking into the windows of another’s soul, I can more easily resist the urge to judge their story. I don’t simply hear their words, I feel with them. I can see the person, not my opinions and beliefs.  I see people who also have fears, hurts, hopes and drives.  I see them for more than what I think I know about them.  By seeing my friends, I know them better. And this works for friend and foe alike.  Abraham Lincoln was known to have said, “I don’t like that man.  I must get to get to know him better.”  Oh, if more of us would practice such wisdom today. By knowing one better, I can offer grace and empathy, even if we don’t see eye to eye on genuinely important matters.

The thing that is most important is the human being standing in front of me (or on the other side of the screen) who deserves to be heard and understood.  Even if I don’t agree.  It is so cliche, but seeing people affords us the opportunity to walk in one another’s shoes. Seek first to understand, then to be understood is a principle of successful leaders for a reason; it works. And if we all can do those two things, the harder it is to demonize or demoralize each other. It is less likely we will throw stones or minimize one another’s lived experiences.

If I really look to see people, then I cannot run away and hide as I have wanted to do over the last several weeks. I have to stay and fight for humanity- mine and "theirs".

Lost and Found - by Susan

Act 1, Train Station, Arles, France, March 1988

As the train pulls into the station, my husband reaches into his shirt pocket for the Eurail pass that we have been using to travel around Europe for the past month.  Today is the last day we can use it. We will catch a train to Zurich, just to see the Alpes.  We will then take an overnight train to Paris, thus saving on hotel and from Paris we will take a plane to Israel.  Problem is, the pass is not in his pocket!. There are no identifying information on it. Anyone can use it to travel anywhere in Europe. He frantically looks in his other pockets and the accessible parts of our luggage, but the train comes and goes.  As the non-french speaking partner, I stay at the station with our luggage while he goes back to our hotel in search of the missing pass.  An hour or so later he comes back, waving the pass as he approaches.  After searching the room at the little pension where we had been staying, he goes back to the restaurant where we ate the night before.  The restaurant is closed but the owner is sweeping the sidewalk. After hearing about the lost pass, he retrieves it from his cash register where he has kept it safely.  Apparently, Ben had dropped it when he went to pay the bill.

Act 2, The Market, New Delhi, India, April 1988

I reach in my purse for my credit card to pay for a pair of sandals and it's not there!  Quickly Ben and I retrace our steps mentally and realize that the last time we used the card was over an hour ago at a restaurant for lunch.  We race back to the hotel where the restaurant was located, all the while imagining the worst.  A quick inquiry brings out the waiter who had served us, bearing the credit card on a silver tray as if it were the last course of our meal.  All is well!  

Act 3, A Friend's House, Barquisimeto, Venezuela, December 1998

Baby Kent needs changing, so I go searching for my backpack to get a diaper.  He is our fourth child and we have done away with the niceties of carrying diaper bags and other baby paraphernalia when we travel.  I have been using my rugged backpack as an all in one diaper bag/ purse/carry on.  That means that it also contains all of our passports, marriage license and birth certificates.  We are on a trip with several stops along the way.  The last one will be the American Embassy in Caracas to get Kent's passport.  The last time I had the backpack was on the taxi we took from the bus terminal to my friend's house.  But we arrived a couple of hours ago and until I noticed the need for the diaper change, I did not realize the bag was missing.  When you have four kids under the age of eight and have been travelling all day, you tend to misplace things.  Ben and my friend's husband drive back to the terminal in search of the missing backpack.  The chances of finding it are pretty slim.  No one wants to think of the consequences of losing all those documents and having to replace them.  An hour later, they return.  Ben is empty handed.  But he quickly turns around to show the backpack!  At the bus terminal they are told that the taxi we took was a "pirate" one, meaning a guy working on his own and not part of an official line.  No one knows him and doesn't think he is coming back to the terminal that night.  As they are leaving the parking lot, the driver does come back.  He has not seen the bag and since leaving us at our destination, has given rides to several other people.  Ben still inspects the back seat where I had been sitting and sure enough the back pack is under the seat, untouched.  

I don't tell these stories to brag about my travels or admit to my distraction and absent-mindedness.  To me they are examples of moments where I could lose but instead found hope in the goodness of humanity.  They remind me that most people, regardless of geography and circumstances, will do the right thing.  And that is a nice reminder every once in a while in a world where humanity gets a bad rap because of the actions of a minority.  We need to hire a better PR person to counter every story of human failure with one much more powerful of love and kindness which is out there. Maybe then entire businesses such as some reality shows would not be dedicated to showing some of us behaving badly and the rest of us watching and drawing pleasure from it.  

Act 4, gas station, Cedar Park, Texas, November 2011

I arrive at the University of Texas for a day-long seminar.  My cell phone rings and it is the secretary of the elementary school where I work.  She tells me that someone brought my wallet to the school because they found it at the gas station where I had stopped earlier that morning to put air in my tires. The kind neighbor then took it to my house and gave it to my husband who brought it to me.

-Susan