Walking the Wall

I started reading a book today called Dispatches from the Edge by Anderson Cooper, and while I admit I had a bit of a bias that I wasn’t going to really like it, it was highly recommended so I started it. I’m about a third of the way in and it is very well written, very disturbing, and very interesting to see the dynamics of his personal and public lives intertwining. One part that really stood out to me was when he was talking to a group of mothers whose children had been killed in the tsunami in 2005 having been trapped in a Buddhist temple where they were attending school. He noted how they all wanted to speak, to talk about their child or children, to be heard in their sorrow. Long after they had more than they could possibly use for an atypical sound byte, he felt they had to keep recording, keep listening to them all. That is, in some ways, how the book feels to me, that during that year, his personal struggles, mainly focused around his fathers death and his brother’s suicide, collided with his work and the book is like the woman’s recordings–his need for connection and to be seen and heard. Which is ironic coming from a man whose livelihood is to be seen and heard–but this is in a different, more deeply human way.

I thought about something similar last night as I was working at my retail job that has gotten very busy due to its target being young women and school/college clothes shopping is in full swing. Most of the night I stood at the cash register with long lines of people in all levels of being tired, excited about being back in town for college, frustrated, irritated, exuberant, angry, and all over the emotional spectrum. It is really easy to get into a rhythm of taking the clothes, removing the sensors, ringing the items, bagging the items, taking the money, receipt in the bag, have a nice day…next! All done in a pleasant way, but routined none the less. When I noticed myself sliding into that rhythm, I stopped and made sure that with each new customer I looked at them in the eye and said some variation of “hello, how are you” etc. with a smile and I noticed a marked difference. Mind you, this wasn’t going from crabby to nice, but from nice, to eye contact, personal nice. Many people would visibly relax, loosen up, really smile back, become more chit chatty, and when they took their bags, say goodbye, have a nice day back in a meaningful way. This is not to say that every person in line was turned into nice, pleasant human beings, or that we all started to sing a Mary Poppin’s song together–but there was a significant, visible difference when people felt like they were truly seen for even just that minute.

Now please believe that I am in no way comparing the grief ridden mothers to people in line buying school clothes at the mall–but just that the two experiences yesterday and today drove home how very much people just want to be seen and heard. How very much humanity craves connection, and how truly little an effort of really seeing and hearing people it takes. I know that even, or maybe especially so, in my own family how easy it is for a week to go by without really stopping to see and hear each person. Isn’t that what Namaste really signifies? Really seeing someone, really seeing what is divine in them, really seeing yourself in them–seeing and acknowledging the connection.

Namaste.