My practice turned out to be the real thing

Being the person I am, sometimes I try to practice an idea before I take it on in earnest so I can try to anticipate what the ‘real’ experience will be like. So I tried it out during our break on the day I was heading to visit family in the Puget Sound area.  Practice Shmractice…It turns out that day had more things in store for me than I ever could have predicted.  In Omak I am a community support person for a group of volunteers who come from around the country every year and agree to live in intentional community while working in schools and agencies that serve the poor and disenfranchised of the area. One of the volunteers is planning on staying in Omak another year as a paid classroom aide at the tribal school, live in our basement, and discern his choices for the future. He was brought up thinking that his options were medicine, law, or political careers. His parents are both very well educated (5 doctorates between them), hold job positions with high prestige, and live in a nice Boston suburb. They were staying at my house with their son, who was house-sitting for us, while I was passing through on break. I brought breakfast to them on the patio before they were heading out on their day’s adventure and before I left to visit family. As I set the plate of sausages down, his mom burst into tears and stated “I’m so afraid for my son.” She continued on with her concerns about how the Omak and reservation environments weren’t “real” options for him--not even for a discernment year about his future.  If he was going to discern, he needed to do it while working on tangible steps to go to one of the best law schools in the nation so that he could get a good paying job, find a suitable young woman, and then create a life in an urban area where he would be able to interact with people that had comparable interests and intellect. A fleeting thought passed my mind to blurt out: Ouch! Really? As you eat my food and stay in my house, you somehow think that Omak, the surrounding communities, the reservation, the people, our jobs, and our lives are less “real” than anywhere else? Instead, I drew a breath so I could listen not to the words, but to the fears of a mom and a dad who were having difficulty realizing that they could no longer control the choices of their child and were afraid. When they asked for my perspective I shared with them that I thought he was incredibly talented, but was seeing the need to discern the most core values of who he was. I also let them know that I thought if he was able to do that he would be able to make his graduate school and life choices in a more informed way that would fit him. I refrained from being snarky and asking the dad if his route of obtaining 4 doctorates was a better choice for figuring out life choices. I’m pretty sure that my words weren’t the comfort they were looking for, but I tried to use compassion to honor their love and care for their son and his future, as well as keep compassion for the son who was trying to figure out life when he was in the midst of confronting the values and precepts he was raised within.

After they left, I noticed that the refrigerator was dark when I opened it and the washing machine was stopped mid-cycle. I flipped all the breaker switches and couldn’t seem to reset anything. Aaaack…It was July 3^rd and I suddenly needed a repair person. I was so not getting out of town on time to see my family. After three calls to the most established electricians in the area with no available time until the next week, the third gave me a tip to try a new electrician in town. Phew, thanks for the compassion! That new electrician stopped by within 20 minutes and was able to trouble shoot the problem quickly…a washer, refrigerator, and an air conditioner all on the same circuit and drawing electricity at the same time. We changed locations of one of the plugs. I learned about overloading the breakers by reading the amperage of each appliance before plugging them in. Thanks again for the compassion by teaching me in a way that didn’t leave me feeling like an idiot. Mr. New Electrician, you earned your service fee.

On my way over the North Cascades Pass, soaking in the beauty of the mountains with residual snow, anticipating seeing my family a little later than I had hoped, thinking about the morning’s conversation, and being grateful for having the opportunity to connect with others. I began reflecting about the concept of compassion and wondering if there would be any experiences before reaching my brother’s place, where I knew I would need to exercise compassion with my mom’s fading memory, compromised hearing, and repetitive questions—many of which can be socially inappropriate. As I went back and forth between thoughts and singing along with the radio, I noticed a man on the side of the road slumped over the backside of a cement divider in the direct sun and not really near anyplace close with buildings. He looked like he was sick or hurt so I found a turnaround and doubled back to ask him if he needed help. He responded that he was in bad shape so I offered to give him a ride. He seemed to be very dehydrated. I backed up to a better spot and reached back to retrieve a bottle of water from the cooler. As I looked back up I noticed that he was pulling up his underwear and his shorts. Without getting graphic, I will just say that from 30 feet away I could see that he was in great need of a change of clothes and was now meandering toward my car. I quickly jumped out of the car and grabbed a blanket from the back, quadruple folded it, and put it on the passenger seat. I asked him where he needed to go after asking him to hand over any weapons he might have. I didn’t let the compassion thing fully take over my being—I had the hunting knife placed under my leg, in case things weren’t as they seemed. He was actually in trouble. He was so thankful for the ride, the air conditioning, and the cool water. I ended up driving him to his house. In that time he talked about how he ended up on the side of the road, the large number of people who didn’t stop, and how the world was getting to be a worse place filled with uncaring people. He then paused and asked me gently, “Why did you stop and pick me up?” I responded, “Because you looked like you were in trouble.” “I was in trouble. Thank you.” When we got to his house, I let him off and gave him the blanket. We exchanged names and he thanked me. I didn’t feel safe escorting him into the house so I told him to get a cool shower, drink some water and juice, and call a friend or ambulance if he wasn’t feeling better. We shook hands and I made sure he got into his house. I was glad he made it home safely, but wondered if I would have made the same decision if I would have known the complete situation when I first saw him. I would like to think so. I then drove around the corner out of sight from the house and released my inner-OCD self by dumping a bunch of hand sanitizer all over the seat and scrubbing any invisible germs that just might have escaped the layers of blanket. I did the same to my hands…several times…and then some more. Compassion might carry germs sometimes.

I arrived at the ferry dock 2 minutes after a ferry had left. There wouldn’t be another until 7:45. I actually laughed a bit when I thought about the choices I made that day to be present with others in radically different situations, which interrupted my plans to get to my brother’s by afternoon. When I finally arrived I was greeted with “How was your trip? Would you like a glass of wine? We saved you some food.” “I got a later start than planned, but the trip was good. I forgot some of my bedding. Do you have any that I can use?” “Of course! We are so glad you are here.” Compassion can take me beyond the edges of what I thought were boundaries of presence between me and another person. I am grateful when I am in a reflective mode to actually appreciate its importance.