This is an essay about empathy, compassion, and roasting vegetables.  I had been working up a funny essay for this weekend, but my plans have changed.  Oh, I still intend to write the lighthearted one, probably next week, but oftentimes life just whispers what needs to be said.  Something happens and I just start noodling on it and then I start discussing it with Trish and then, well, I have to write it down to get it out of my head. Buckle up, reader, because this is going to be a deeply personal essay.  Then again, most of my essays are.  A by-product of embracing authenticity and vulnerability is that I just don’t know how to write any other way anymore.  I know I am not discovering new deep thoughts or breaking new philosophical ground.  Writing helps me work things out and by sharing this writing, I hope that I can help you put words to similar thoughts that have been swirling in your head.

Last time, I wrote about intentionality—choosing to act consciously and on things that I decide are important to me.  I wrote that Trish and I are both struggling to differing degrees with a sense of purpose these days and that embracing intentionality has helped me find meaning in things that used to be somewhat mindless activities.  That’s all well and good but I knew there was more.  The “more” has really come out over these last couple of weeks as I’ve worked to put “intentionality” into conscious practice.  As I wrote last time, I’ve started taking a couple of minutes in the morning to write a few lines in my journal to “set my intention” for the day.  I put that statement in quotes because it really does sound like loosey-goosey, crunchy-granola-spirituality that cries out for quote marks.  But it actually works.  Until it doesn’t.  It’s the “until it doesn’t” part—when your plans change—that I want to write about today.

I’ll start with a simple example.  One night last week, Trish and I sat down after dinner to watch the evening news, to be followed by my nightly call to my Mom.  Then I got a text from a friend.  She lives a few hours away and her son had recently moved to the area to start his first post-college job.  She was asking me if there was a pharmacy that delivered because her son had a terrible migraine and didn’t have any medicine.  I could have ignored the text.  Or I could have given her the number of the local CVS.  And I am embarrassed to admit that not too many years ago I would have chosen one of those paths.  Instead, I did a quick mental calculation.  The nightly news bums me out anyway and I could afford to skip a night; I could text Mom and tell her I’d call a few minutes late; and he lives five minutes from my house.  When I added into the calculation a few seconds of imagining being a Mom, several hours away from my son who was in pain, feeling helpless and wanting to help my child…well, it became a no-brainer.  I hopped in the car and brought the kid some Excedrin Migraine.  And a chocolate bar. 

I’ve often heard the advice that if you are feeling down or sad, go do something for someone else.  For most of my adult life I had not been able to embrace that because, honestly, I was just too self-centered.  But, man, is it true!  I felt so good after running that errand!  And I realized what a gift my friend had given ME by giving me the opportunity to help her son out.  I’ve beaten myself up regularly over the years because I’ve felt like I did not give back enough to the community.  I wrote checks, which certainly were needed, but I hadn’t given much of my time.  I’m not sure what made me so hesitant to volunteer.  Maybe it was reluctance to making an open-ended commitment, since I tended to go for one-off “day of caring” events.  Maybe it was fear of an emotional commitment—either making one myself or feeling compelled to make one by someone else’s needs.  This has torn at me for decades.  I tried to assuage the need and the guilt by writing bigger checks but even giving away my whole net worth wouldn’t have been enough.  I wanted the feeling of doing good without having to put in any effort.  I still don’t know from what I was protecting myself.  It was really only when I wrote that last essay that I realized, to paraphrase myself, that I was looking for meaning EVERYWHERE without realizing I could find meaning ANYWHERE.

Part of that realization was opening my eyes to what Trish and her posse of friends have brought into my life.  Every one of them, but especially Trish, has shown me the value of doing something that makes someone else’s life a little easier.  Trish seems to always go that little extra step to do something nice for someone.  She isn’t afraid of the effort; she isn’t protective of her vulnerability.  My bestie, Beth, is the same way.  They are both very aware of the needs and preferences of those around them and look for ways, large and small, to address those needs.  Little by little, I’ve started putting that into action myself.  Seriously, Sherri, you never were aware of that before?  Well, yes and no.  During my working years, especially, I just ping-ponged from one reactionary activity to another.  I rarely stopped and asked myself, “What (and who) is really important here?”   While I have always had a strong sense of empathy, it tended to just make me anxious and sad for others.  Or angry.  What it rarely did was inspire action on my part, as it does for Trish and Beth.

So, this week there was another change in plans.  One of our best friends is the only child of a really feisty 95-year-old woman, whom we all adore.  She has continued to insist on living alone with only help from her daughter.  Earlier this week, our greatest fear was realized when she fell at night and wasn’t found until the morning, her hip broken.  The wagons have quickly circled and when the posse says, “We’ll be there” you can take it to the bank.  Today, Trish and I were asked to go to her Mom’s house and gather up trash for garbage day tomorrow and take care of a few other tasks.  There was no question, no hesitation, just asking ourselves, “What else can we do?”  Since my love language is cooking, I immediately went to the grocery store and roasted a tray of vegetables and grilled some chicken breasts.  Our friend needs healthy food when she gets home at night from the hospital!  We looked around her Mom’s house and did everything we could think of that would help.  No matter what happens next, the posse will be there.  Not out of obligation.  Out of empathy, compassion, and love.

I realize that I am much more aware of little things that will make life easier for people around me.  Sure, I try to do lots of little things for Trish, as she does for me.  But I also pulled our trash cans out from the curb this morning because it would be hard for the trash truck to get around the vehicle parked there and I didn’t want the guys to have to get out of the truck.  And I hold the door for people at the Y.  And I ask if I can cook when I go visit people.  (OK, I’m still a little unsure about my cooking but I’m going to trust that Trish would tell me if it’s not really that good.)  I don’t do these things out of obligation or because I expect something in return from them.  I do it simply because I have made the conscious decision that doing these things is important to me.  And it just feels good to do something nice for someone, especially when they don’t expect it.  All this sounds so obvious as I write it, but this has truly been revelatory for me.  Oh, I still write checks to charities that can reach many more people.  But the real meaning for me comes from those acts that I choose to do for those I care about, or who just cross my path. It’s been conscious.  Purposeful.  And it has meaning.  Even when—or especially when—it requires a sudden change in plans.