Portland workshop: Effective communication skills for vegans & vegetarians

Vegetarian-Thanxgiving-dinnerThe fall and winter holiday season is upon us.

Vegan/vegetarian advocacy (or even simple social “defense”) can be challenging throughout the year. But when turkey and ham dinners with family, friends, or coworkers start happening, it can be especially stressful and frustrating.

Whether you expect to be dodging snide remarks or jokes from relatives around the turkey, or you’d like to talk persuasively about veg*anism to your co-celebrants to encourage others to give it a try, this workshop can help. We’ll be talking about using NonViolent Communication (NVC)* tools to build connection, rather than divisiveness, when talking about these charged topics.

We won’t be talking about fact-based, point-by-point rebuttals to anti-veg*n statements, since there are plenty of online resources for that. We’ll be talking instead about how to get in touch with our own feelings and needs around animal rights, environmental concerns, and/or health, and conveying them–if and when we choose to–in a way that is more likely to encourage openness in our listeners, rather than argument or defensiveness. The goal of the workshop is to increase the potential effectiveness of our persuasive conversations, while also decreasing our risk for the anger, bitterness, depression, and burnout that sometimes go along with living by a certain set of beliefs that many of our loved ones may not share.

The venue is small, so attendance will be capped at six participants.  There are two events: November 22 and December 13.

*Disclaimer: I am not a certified NVC instructor. However, I have been involved in studying, using, and facilitating the learning of NVC for the past twelve years, in a variety of online and in-person capacities.

Posted in Animal rights, Life coaching for a better world, Nonviolent Communication, Uncategorized, Veganism, Workshops | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Reconnecting to my Portland roots

MAX to GreshamLately I have been feeling disconnected. Disconnected from myself, disconnected from my community… and, without realizing it, I think also disconnected from my adopted home.

I was a newcomer here in Portland in 1990. Since then, we have been awash in more and more newcomers every year. I welcome them all. However, I sense that over time, our city’s institutional memory has been growing weaker. People may come here because they have heard the buzz, or they are seeking a young, fun, and creative culture. When they arrive, they may not know how things were around here even as recently as the turn of the millennium (pre-“Portlandia”) much less back into the 1980s, 1970s, or earlier.

I’ve been reading Willamette Week’s 40th anniversary issue these past few days, and I’m finding it very poignant at this point in my life. Their anniversary issue each year is always the same week as my birthday, which makes it a nice touchstone for me. And, since I just turned 42 this past week, their age is similar to my own. I’ve read their “alternative weekly” religiously since I arrived here (though it gets thinner each year, as print journalism shifts).

What struck me about this 40th-year special edition was the sense of connection and rootedness it rekindled in me for the hometown I eagerly adopted 24 years ago. Something about this place—its climate, its culture, its populace—stood out to me when I was thinking about where to go to college. I intuited that it would be a good fit for me, and I was right.

When I got here, I wanted to learn about local history, culture, and politics. I immersed myself in those things right away. In 1990, Barbara Roberts was poised to become Oregon’s first female governor. I wished I could vote for her, but my 18th birthday fell two days after the election. Still, I volunteered for several progressive ballot measures—and against several regressive ones—during that campaign season. My home state of Virginia did not have the initiative process, so it was all new to me. I loved it!

Barbara Roberts

Reading WW’s retrospective helped me to remember some of the culture I stepped into when I arrived. The MAX light-rail line to Gresham had just opened four years earlier.  (Now we have a light-rail network throughout the region.) Bud Clark was still the goofy and avant-garde mayor. Lloyd Marbet was working to shut down the nearby Trojan nuclear plant.  (I remember the “Leaking Trojans… Cause Accidents” T-shirts.) The city was still reeling from the racially motivated killing of Ethiopian immigrant Mulugeta Seraw. Gus Van Sant was artistically documenting the grit and seediness that still permeated the place, with films like “Drugstore Cowboy” and “My Own Private Idaho.”

Trojan nuclear plant

In the early to mid-1990s, I experienced firsthand many of the events covered in the story. I remember when the Bicycle Transportation Alliance, for example, successfully campaigned for bike racks on city buses. I remember when US Senator Bob Packwood’s sordid history of sexual harassment became public, disgracing him and ending his political career. I remember when former Oregon governor Neil Goldschmidt, whose progressive policies and strong leadership had cast a long, hopeful shadow across the local culture, similarly fell from grace when his sexually abusive relationship with a teenager, from many years prior, surfaced.

bus-bike-loading

I remember when the City Nightclub—the first all-ages gay dance club in town—was forced to close. My bisexual first boyfriend had regaled me with tales of his experiences there during its heyday, so I had felt some small personal connection to it.

I remember when the Pearl District—which had housed that nightclub—changed from a mostly deserted warehouse area to a bustling example of urban renewal (for better or worse).

I remember when Stumptown Coffee quietly opened on SE Division Street.

Stumptown Coffee Roasters

And I remember many more things.

Over the years, I have noticed that many of my closest friends—and almost all of my long-term romantic partners—have been Portland natives. They are a rare breed—growing rarer every day—and I think my invisible pull toward them reflects something about my resonance with this place, its culture, and its history. I love all the new energy from all the other newcomers since me… and at the same time, I really appreciate the opportunity this Willamette Week retrospective has afforded me to reminisce, reconnect, and soak in the gratitude for some of the events and people who have shaped this unique city.

I welcome feedback, from Portlanders old and new, as well as people from other places around the world. How has your connection to your own sense of place changed—or stayed the same—over time?

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The gifts of giving

This is a follow-up to my last post, regarding my intention to give away 365 things this year, one every day.  I’m almost two months into it, and I wanted to share how the experience has been so far.

In a word: wonderful.

There have been more benefits than I had initially expected.  My main goal was to lighten my load, physically and psychically.  That has been happening, and I love it.  But there have been other benefits, too.

For one thing, it has been a pleasure to see how happy people have been to receive these items.  One of the first things I gifted was an essential oil diffusing candle set.  (I had always thought it was a lovely thing to have, but after two years I still hadn’t used it, so it was clear to me that someone else should be enjoying it instead.)  After the recipient came to pick it up, within a few hours he posted on Facebook to all his friends that he was having a lovely relaxing evening with therapeutic scented oils in his new diffuser.  What a pleasure to know that someone’s life had been enhanced by this transaction, at the same time that my life was being simplified.

Another gift was a vegan book about health, and a friend of mine claimed it and came to pick it up at my workplace.  When she did, she met my vegan coworker, and the two of them started chatting about food and health and being vegan in Portland.  Spontaneous community building!

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Another surprising benefit involved my own receiving.  It wasn’t my intention to receive anything in return for any of these items (after all, the whole point was to reduce my possessions) but a few cool things have come my way nonetheless, and they have been fun surprises.  When I gave away a green velvet tunic, the recipient said he wouldn’t be home when I dropped it off at his house, but I could leave it on the porch. He invited me to bring along a container to fill with grapes from the arbor at his house.  I did, and they were delicious.

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On that occasion, I also used the gifting opportunity to go for a beautiful bike ride to his house, which was about 25 minutes away from mine by bicycle.  I enjoyed the warm sunshine and fall foliage.  When gifting other items, I’ve taken more bike rides, traveling to sometimes unfamiliar parts of town, and appreciating new-to-me bicycle infrastructure and beautiful views, including a rainbow on a cloud over the river near sunset.  In some cases, I have stopped at restaurants or gone to parks in parts of town I don’t generally visit, because dropping off these items (by bike or car) has taken me out of my way.  What a gift!  On the other hand, I have also met close-by neighbors I never knew I had.

Meanwhile, one of my hopes had been to metaphorically “clear space” for my businesses (Dream Into Change and Happy to Listen) to grow with new clients.  I was pleasantly surprised when two new clients contacted me within six days of my beginning this gifting venture.  Coincidence?  I don’t know, but I’m happy to receive it as a part of the whole intention.

I’ve got ten more months to go (assuming I can continue to find that many more things to give!)  I look forward to more magical unfoldings as the year progresses.

How about my readers?  Have any of you ever undertaken such a project?  If so, what benefits – expected or unexpected – did you find?

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Giving away 365 things

I have too much stuff.

It’s a common lament in today’s First World, but lately I am feeling more and more palpably the weight of my possessions and clutter.  They eat into my space.  Not just my physical space (I’m typing this on my laptop in the one clear spot on my kitchen table, surrounded by stacks of paper) but my mental and psychic space.

About a year and a half ago, as many readers know, I set an intention to begin living in a warm climate – specifically, the beautiful city of San Diego – between December and March of each year.  I would do this by quitting my “day job” of ten years, and transitioning to full-time work in my Happy to Listen empathetic listening practice and/or this Dream Into Change coaching practice.  This coming December was to be the beginning of that new way of life.

It’s not going to happen this year.  I still have only a few clients, not nearly enough to transition away from my full-time day job. There are many reasons for this, but I’m starting to think that my attachment to my stuff may be a part of it.

When I began visioning this new way of life, I pictured myself living nimbly.  I would own few possessions.  I would rent out my condo here in Portland, and rent a room in San Diego, and travel lightly (possibly by train and/or bike) between the two cities.  When I think about that now, it is hard to imagine myself moving so nimbly and lightly.

When I feel myself overwhelmed by physical objects in my space, somehow it seems to shrink my time, as well.  I find myself escaping the chaos into the Internet, and before you know it, hours have gone by, and I need to sleep.  I haven’t used that time to see clients.  I haven’t used it to do the behind-the-scenes work necessary to build up a thriving practice, either.

So I think it’s time for me to clear out this clutter.  I am going to set a new intention to move to San Diego next winter, in December of 2014.  That gives me about 15 months to get things going.  And my first step will be to give away at least one possession per day for the next year.  365 possessions.  They may be large or small – mostly small, since that’s mostly what I have – but I will give away one per day, on average.  (I’ll probably take time off for vacations and maybe weekends, but when I do, I’ll give away more things on other days.)  My plan is to post these items on local free websites and/or Facebook pages, and anything that is not spoken for I will take to a thrift store or put in a free box.

Yes.  This feels good.  Let the lightening begin!

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Hitting the sweet spot in Raleigh

At the Wake County Courthouse

At the Wake County Courthouse

Well… the tour is wrapping up!  Today we’ll be boarding a plane back to Portland, the East Coast Empathy Tour on its way to becoming a memory.

Yesterday, in Raleigh, I found the sweet spot.  At the suggestion of my aunt and uncle, we headed for downtown near the lunch hour, and I set up my sign on the steps of the Wake County Courthouse.  The sun was shining, the temperature was pleasant, and people were out and about.

Within seconds, I felt at home.  People smiled at me, gave me thumbs-up, and shared words of encouragement and appreciation.  It was great to be back in the flow!

The first woman who approached asked me what I was doing.  I told her, and she said, “Well, I’m homeless right now.”  She paused, then continued, sadly.  “Ain’t much to talk about, being homeless.”  I was surprised to hear her say this, because in Portland I found that homeless people tended to talk with me at length.  But she seemed sincere, so I nodded and said, “Well, I’m happy to listen if you ever do feel like talking.”  She nodded in acknowledgment, and went to sit with a friend.  Then she called over to me, “Show him your sign!”  I did, and he seemed to approve.

A minute or so later, an older couple walked by and seemed delighted to see me.  A few minutes after that, they came back, and the man said, “I’m so glad you’re still here!”  They wanted to talk about what I was doing, and take my picture to post on Facebook.  This is exactly the sort of response I love!  I hope that by sharing the photo of me and my sign with their friends, some new people will be inspired about the idea and power of empathy.

Then a man walked by and studied the sign for a bit.  He asked a question to clarify what I was doing, and then shared that he himself does something similar.  He works in some sort of ministry, approaching people on the street who have lost hope, and helps them to believe in themselves and find ways to move forward in life, following their hearts.  He spoke for about a half hour, and at times his explicitly Christian sharings bordered on proselytizing.  Not surprising, given what he had told me about the way he spends his time.  But although I did not agree with everything he said, I enjoyed experiencing his positive energy, and found some of his personal stories of overcoming major life challenges to be engaging and inspiring.  I always enjoy connecting with people who seem lit up by life, love, and purpose, and this man definitely was.

After he left, a young woman stopped by and asked if I would be there every day.  No, I said; unfortunately today is the last day of my tour.  She looked disappointed.  “But I’ll be here for another half hour,” I offered, thinking perhaps she could come back.  She said, “Oh, no – I’m fine today!  But some days…” with an expression that said she could really appreciate the value of having someone to talk to after a rough day at work.

An elderly woman came by, pushing a cart.  She puzzled over what I was doing, and then said she knew what she wanted to talk about.  “I want this war to end.”  I smiled sadly and nodded.  She went on to say that she believed President Obama was doing a good job, and trying really hard.  Then things turned a bit surreal.  She mentioned that she had recently written to his cousin, who would probably pass along her message to the President.  Then, the two of them would probably invite her to go on an important political road trip with them, probably around Thanksgiving or Christmas, when all the residents in her group home get the holidays off.  She was looking forward to the trip, and added that she would need to stop by Goodwill to get a good suitcase for it, probably no later than September.  I listened to all of this, nodding supportively.  She reiterated that she wanted the war to end.  Then, apparently satisfied that she had been heard, she walked on.

Shortly before I wrapped up, a man came up on a bicycle.  He said he was a busker, and had been playing his accordion in various cities along the East Coast, most recently Savannah, which he had really enjoyed.  Based in upstate New York, he was a bit concerned whether it was legal in Raleigh to simply busk on the street without a permit.  I didn’t know, so we said goodbye and he pedaled off to inquire elsewhere, carrying the accordion on his back in a large pack.

In between all of these interactions, I was touched by how many people just smiled and said encouraging words.  I had come full circle in this tour: the experience reminded me both of Portland, and of my first day on the tour, in Boston.

I have learned a few things about how to do on-the-street empathy:

The size and scale of a city is important, and finding the right public spot is key.

Weather can play a big role.

But, region to region, people are people.  And it seems clear that people in today’s world appreciate the value of empathy.

I am deeply honored to think that I have been able to play this particular, tiny role in hearing people who have wanted to be heard, inspiring people who hadn’t been expecting to be inspired, and bringing to consciousness people’s innate appreciation of being heard in a supportive, warm, non-judgmental way.  I don’t know what the future holds for me, in terms of continuing this on-the-street work; I will be listening to my heart over the next few weeks and months to see if I want to continue it on any kind of regular basis, in Portland or elsewhere.  But this tour has been a wonderful experience.

I want to take this moment to thank each and every one of the people who have supported me in any way, and there are too many to list by name!  Some people contributed money.  Some people opened their homes to me and/or Brian to offer lodging (and in many cases, amazing food as well).  Some people shared my campaign and/or blog postings with their friends, or on Facebook.  And many, many people offered encouragement and moral support throughout the process.  I am grateful to all of you, and thrilled to see what we have all brought to pass.

Until the next step of the journey…!

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Triangulations in North Carolina

At the Durham Public Library

At the Durham Public Library

Well… no one said it would always be easy.  This whole tour has been a learning experience for me, in so many ways.  Here in North Carolina, I am finding both new and old challenges.

Brian and I headed out to Chapel Hill and Durham today, hoping to find a “sweet spot” for me to sit with my sign.

Chapel Hill was first.  On this humid day of 95 degrees, we set out in my aunt and uncle’s car (thankfully equipped with GPS) to look for Franklin Street, which is a quaint business district and social hub for students and community around the University of North Carolina. Perhaps partly because of the weather, we didn’t see much foot traffic on the street, and the people we did see were moving pretty slowly, in contrast to the bustling masses I had encountered in Boston and New York.  I set up with my sign near a bus stop, facing what foot traffic there was… but got no takers.  I sat for only 15 minutes, but it felt like much longer.  One passerby saw the sign and smiled at me, but others either walked past without looking, or eyed me and/or the sign with puzzlement and/or suspicion.  I felt awkward and out of place.  I reminded myself that part of what I have intended to do on this tour is to challenge myself and push my comfort zone in situations such as this.  So, I continued to sit, and to smile at people as they walked past.

Still, I sensed that even if I sat for a full 90 minutes – my optimal amount of time – I might not get any takers.  The size of the town (I whipped out my phone and discovered the population is only 58,000) and the fact that most students were gone for the summer were not working in my favor.  My aunt and uncle and their friends had suggested some other locations in the area that might work well, so I decided to try elsewhere.

We got back in the car and headed for Durham (population 279,000), home of Duke University.  We had heard that Ninth Street was the “hippie part of town,” so I thought I might find a receptive audience there.  When we arrived, though, the street seemed even more deserted than Franklin had been.  Again, school was not in session, and in the heat and humidity, even those folks who were patronizing the businesses on that street were indoors, luxuriating in the air conditioning.

We drove through campus, to see if we could spot any groups of people.  Nope.

I decided to Google the Durham public library, since the Portland library had been a good spot for me.  We found the address, and headed toward downtown to check it out in person.  The building we encountered was much more modern than the Portland library, appearing to have been built around the 1970s.  It was surrounded by a large parking lot.  I was dubious that there would be enough foot traffic to work well, but thought I should give it a try.

I found a spot in the shade, near the door, but not on the path into it, since there were no steps leading in.  Brian went inside to explore the library, and I set up my sign.  Once again, I felt somewhat awkward in this setting with not many people.  There was a somewhat steady stream of people going in and out from their cars, but they didn’t seem interested to stop.  One middle-aged man looked at the sign, smiled, and walked past.  Later, a middle-aged woman asked, “What is empathy?”  When I answered, she said, “Oh,” and walked past, asking another man if he had a light for her cigarette.  One other group of women walked by and smiled, but I couldn’t tell if they were responding to me and my sign, or just enjoying a joke or happy experience amongst themselves.  Most people who walked past, if they read the sign, looked puzzled and/or dubious, and did not interact with me.

I became very aware of my feelings of awkwardness, and some of the factors that contributed to them.  I noticed that a certain level of activity seems to be necessary for people to be interested in stopping.  A certain distance from people seems socially comfortable; too far, and it becomes a real commitment for someone to approach.  Public transit – or at least the urban density that makes public transit workable – seems to be an important factor.  Here in the “research triangle” of North Carolina, there is a lot of sprawl, and no light-rail or subway system.  Hence, the places feel different, with more room for cars and less for people.  Also, the heat and humidity seemed to encourage people to move more slowly, and to spend more time indoors rather than stopping to talk to someone outside.

I spent another 15 minutes – which again felt much longer – at the library, then decided to pack it up.  We drove to another area that seemed like it might be promising, but found almost no one there either.  Dark storm clouds began to portend the electrical storm that had been forecast, and we decided to head back home.  (On our way, the storm hit, knocking down a large evergreen over several lanes on the highway and causing us to drive over the median to avoid it.  By the time we arrived home in the evening, the storm had passed, and the forecast indicates that tomorrow should be sunny and pleasant, in the mid-80s.)

So… once again I was disappointed that things did not flow as smoothly as they did in the beginning of the tour, and that I wasn’t able to contribute anything meaningful to the residents of this area.  But, hope springs eternal for my last day:  We will go into Raleigh (state capital, population 500,000) and do our darnedest to find some folks who would like some empathy!

I do want to take this moment to make a plea to anyone reading who may have wanted to contribute financially to the tour, but who hasn’t done so yet.  I am down to less than two days remaining in my Indiegogo campaign, and I have raised $1205, just $45 shy of halfway to my $2500 goal.  I would love to at least hit the halfway mark before the campaign is over; I need to cover travel expenses and lost pay, since I am taking two weeks’ unpaid leave for this trip.  Every dollar counts… and perks include Happy to Listen and/or Dream Into Change sessions!  If you’re interested in contributing, or spreading the word to your friends on Facebook, the link is http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/east-coast-empathy-tour

Meanwhile… stay tuned to see what happens in Raleigh tomorrow!

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Washington, DC

IMG_1820I am somewhat chagrined.

I’m writing from the train, heading to Raleigh with my sweetie, Brian, who has joined me for the second half of this empathy tour.  We had an enjoyable few days in the Washington area, but I very much regret to report that I was not able to sit with my sign for long enough to get any takers.

When I initially envisioned this trip, the idea of offering empathy in our nation’s capital – the place where decisions that affect the entire world are made on a regular basis – was a central part of it.  I imagined sitting on the steps of the Capitol building with my sign, attracting attention from tourists and “Washington insiders” alike, and perhaps even offering empathy to people who might play some role in important decisions.  I wanted to be close to the halls of power, and to bring the concept – and perhaps the reality – of empathy into a place where political polarization seems to increase every year, mirroring a cultural trend toward isolation and black-and-white, us-vs-them thinking.

Perhaps I would sit on the steps of the Supreme Court, where contentious legal decisions sometimes spur protests in the area outside.

Maybe I could sit in the area near the White House.  President Obama himself has spoken of a “deficit of empathy” in our culture.  I had hoped I could play some role – however tiny – in ameliorating that deficit, by making the concept of empathy visible and human.

It was not to be.

We had three days in the Washington metro area, and the first we spent with my parents in Loudoun County, revisiting my childhood home and environs, and taking a short jaunt to Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, where we even stepped onto the Appalachian Trail.

The next two days we spent in the District of Columbia, but the first day – as we traveled about the National Mall as tourists, and I kept an eye out for good spots to sit with my sign – we were soaked by a rain that lasted all day, even occasioning flash-flood warnings in parts of the area.  I could not see any dry place to set up “shop,” so we spent the day indoors, exploring some Smithsonian museums.

The forecast was dry for the next day, so I was hopeful that I would be able to get in at least one, and possibly two, on-the-street empathy stints.  We headed out on Capital Bikeshare bikes (wonderful experience – I am sold on the bike-sharing concept) toward the Mall again.  Brian pedaled toward the tidal basin to see the MLK, FDR, and Jefferson memorials, while I set my sights on the Capitol building.

When I got there, however, I was reminded of the scale of the Capitol, and indeed of Washington itself. The city, as I have often recalled from my childhood visits and field trips, is built on a grand scale, rather than a human scale.  Compared to Portland, the city blocks seem to stretch forever.  The Mall itself is a truly enormous public space.  The buildings inspire awe, and hearken to a time when people were building both physical and psychic infrastructure for a grand new nation, filled with promise.

These streets, parks, and buildings are impressive to behold and to photograph, but in my felt-sense experience, they dwarf individual humans, and do not lend themselves to community-building in the way that public plazas in Portland, Boston, New York, and other cities do.  Certainly there are neighborhoods in DC – perhaps most of them, in fact – that are much better suited to these social needs.  But in the places that house the halls of power, I saw expansive stone surrounded by mobs of tourists, and I didn’t experience the feeling that I get when I know I’ve found a good spot to sit with my sign.

I started at the Capitol, but almost no one was passing by on the steps.  There was actually some police activity going on there at the time, and two separate officers asked me to ride my bike on the “wrong” side of the double yellow lines in the street, in order to avoid their cars.  I don’t know what was happening; but I determined that the Capitol would not work for my purposes.

Next I cycled to the Supreme Court, just a few blocks away.  Again, though, I saw an imposing building with no one on its steps, or even many people walking nearby.  No protests, or people gathering nearby.  I could see I would not have any takers.

A friend had told me that the Smithsonian Institution’s Portrait Gallery’s steps were a popular lunchtime spot for downtown workers, so I tried sitting there with my sign for about fifteen minutes.  I didn’t get any response, though, and most people didn’t even see the sign, because they were walking past the steps rather than up them.

Time was ticking.  I needed to meet up with Brian so that we could see the White House.  By the time we got there, we could only stay for a few minutes before leaving to get to our hosts’ house just outside of town.  Surveying the scene at the White House, I’m not sure whether it would have been a good spot to offer empathy, either, since again, it was filled mostly with tourists taking in the sights in the midst of their packed itineraries.

So… my time had run out.  I felt sad and disappointed that what I had imagined as the capstone to this trip had not come to pass.

Since my parents live in the area, perhaps I can return within the next few years, and maybe try it again.  Seek out more neighborhood-based locations.  We shall see.

But, for now I’m looking forward to spending some time in the South, and keeping my fingers tightly crossed that the predicted rain- and thunderstorms (amid 95-degree temperatures) will break for at least a few hours so that I can set up my sign in Raleigh and/or Chapel Hill.

The empathy tour continues!

On the steps of the Portrait Gallery

On the steps of the Portrait Gallery

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Empathy in New York

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This afternoon I headed to Union Square in Manhattan, and found a bustling urban park teeming with life.  The park contains green spaces as well as a paved plaza.  I walked all through it, marveling at the sheer number of people, before choosing a spot right next to the subway entrance.

To my immediate left, several outdoor chess matches unfolded.  Right in front of me stood a man with a booth representing “the 99%,” who blew a whistle in a rhythmic way reminiscent of a protest chant, about once per hour.  Just slightly beyond him, a quartet of hare krishnas chanted and sang.  And all throughout, people of all ages, colors, and languages walked and talked.

I set up my sign.  Within about 30 seconds, I heard a young woman’s voice saying, “Free empathy?”  I looked up and met her eyes as she continued, “If I had time, I would sit down and have a heart-to-heart with you right now!”  Alas, she did not have time.  She walked on.

After that, I found myself talking to a number of people from Eastern Europe.  The first pair were two young men from Kosovo.  They were curious about what I was doing, and seemed inclined to chat.  One seemed to fancy himself a sort of joker/philosopher, and kept asking me questions like, “If there is so much more water than earth on this planet, why do we call the planet Earth?”  His friend described arriving in the United States a year ago, speaking almost no English.  He said he loved New York, has a job now, and is happy to have made the move.

After a few minutes, we were joined by a cheerful young man from the Ukraine, who was happy to supply his own definition of “empathy” when the other two asked.  His definition was different from mine; he focused on intuitive understanding of another’s emotional state, often from a distance or with no verbal exchange.  He said that he was very empathic himself, and enjoyed talking with people whom he sensed were troubled, since he found he could often help them to feel better.  He also said that anyone can hone this innate ability, and it helps to release everything we think we care about.  He himself had been thrust into homelessness and destitution a few years ago, and found it very scary at the time, but later appreciated it because through “losing everything” he was able to gain this powerful ability.  His material circumstances had since become more comfortable, I gathered; but he retained the ability, and recommended the experience of “releasing everything.”

After these three left, a man who had been sitting nearby turned to ask me about what I was doing.  He was from Italy, he said (and possibly another place in Europe, too – he spoke quietly and with an accent, so I had a hard time hearing everything he shared.)  He, too, wondered what empathy was, so I described it as “listening with caring.”  He told his story of coming to this country, and encouraged me to move to New York, saying that it was great and that he could help me find a job.  (He also asked me for my phone number, which I politely declined.)  I told him I was enjoying my visit, but that I love Portland and plan to continue living there.

Shortly after he and I stopped talking, a self-described “geezer” from Hungary arrived, taken by my sign.  He told a touching story about his father’s having been a political prisoner for ten years.  During his incarceration, the father managed to make small wooden blocks with letters carved into them, and smuggled them out of the prison to his young son (the man talking to me) who was able to use them to teach himself to read and write. Wow.

After he left, another young man – American, apparently born in this country – approached and asked what empathy was.  I told him, as best I could, and he seemed to like the idea, although he didn’t have much more to share.  He moved on.

Then another young man came up, and asked me to differentiate between empathy and sympathy.  I told him my understanding (which is based on Marshall Rosenberg’s distinction) and he seemed to agree.  We had a rather long talk, about a variety of topics including the changing culture of business – especially the financial sector – in America today.  From his insider’s perspective in that industry, he could see that the old norm of high-pressure sales was being replaced by a relationship-building, trust-based model.  I enjoyed hearing this.

While we were talking, I caught sight of a young man walking through the square holding up a “free hugs” sign.  I smiled as he came near us, and jumped up to show him my sign.  We hugged, and got a few pictures together.

As he left, the man I had been talking to expressed suspicion about the “free hugs” guy’s motives, surmising that it could simply be a tactic to get women to hug him.  I smiled at what I imagined as a more “New Yorker” reaction to it than the “Portlander” reactions I had seen from many of my friends back home, most of whom love the “free hugs” idea, and some of whom have carried such signs themselves.  Then, I wondered if perhaps this New Yorker was correct, about some men who carry these signs.  I wondered if I, and my left-coast friends, might be blinded by idealism and naivete at times.  Probably so, actually.  But, I’m pretty sure I’d rather err on the side of trust than suspicion, most of the time.  A lot more magic can happen that way, I find.  I also tend to find that people live up to my expectations, be they positive or negative.  I certainly didn’t lose anything by hugging this guy today; I think we both gained something.

After that, it was getting cold and starting to rain, so after this longer-than-usual session, I packed it up and headed to check out a vegan restaurant nearby.

Heavy rain is forecast for tomorrow, so I believe this will be my only empathy session in New York.  I had been a little nervous that people here might be more stand-offish, or even sarcastic or contemptuous of me and my sign, given the stereotypes I had heard about New Yorkers (mostly, I should mention, from ex-New Yorkers.)  But I found myself once again reassured that we are all human, and people enjoy connecting with each other.

Next stop: our nation’s capital!

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A new perspective

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Day Three out on the street.  In this case, it was Harvard Square, in the early evening.  I had walked to Harvard from MIT, taking in the various sights along the way in the beautiful sunshine.  As I approached the square, I saw a weathered, middle-aged man holding a cardboard sign that read, “Seeking human kindness.”  Although of course I understood that he was specifically seeking donations of spare change and bills, I enjoyed the wording of the sign, and I briefly considered pulling out mine a little early, simply to show it to him so we could exchange smiles about the synchronicity.

Instead, I found a spot to sit right at the entrance/exit of the Harvard subway stop, and took out the sign to face the throngs exiting the station. It was pretty busy at rush hour, and no one was stopping at first.  Most didn’t even look at me or my sign.  They all seemed in a hurry to get wherever they were going.  I wondered if I should try re-positioning myself somehow.

Then the man with the sign approached me.  I smiled; but he seemed wary.  He asked if I had a psychology degree.  With a wry smile, I admitted that I did.  Then the conversation took a turn I hadn’t expected.

He did not like what I was doing.  He urged me to stop doing it.  Multiple times.

His concern was that someone mentally unstable might come and talk with me, and I might give them advice that would make them feel worse, and that might do serious damage to them, even to the point that they might harm or kill themselves.

I told him that I don’t offer advice, I just listen.  This did not change his opinion at all.  He said that most people would want advice (which has not been my experience), and I might end up giving some in spite of myself.  And even if I didn’t, I might make a seemingly innocuous, well-intentioned remark, but someone with severe psychiatric or emotional problems might take it “the wrong way,” or give it too much credence, and might make poor, self-harmful decisions as a result. He said that he himself had been suicidal at times, and also that he had a friend who had been to a well-meaning therapist, who said something seemingly innocuous and the friend took it the wrong way and killed himself.  He said many “bad therapists” do those sorts of things.  Would I want that on my conscience?  (He didn’t mention anything about legal liability, but I sensed that might have been part of his concern too.)

Well, no, I wouldn’t.  What he was saying did give me pause.  But I remained connected to my heart, and to the hope and trust and love and faith that resides there.  I could see how his concerns were coming from a place of fear.  Possibly very “justified” fear, given his experiences… but still fear.  I believe that the kind of decision-making that most benefits ourselves, others, and the greater good comes from love, trust, and faith rather than fear.  I mentally began mapping the exponential social consequences of our differing approaches: everyone choosing not to engage with troubled strangers in fear of harming them, vs. the amount of help and connection that could be built by people taking the risk to open their hearts and offer support to others.  I thought of all the smiles and “thank yous” I had received in my time sitting with my sign in various locations, and all the support people have shown me in taking this tour.  To me, the greater good clearly comes from attempting to help, in good faith.

I conversed with the man for five or ten minutes – making an extra effort to listen and reflect what he was hearing more than interjecting my own perspectives, though I did do some of that – and we stared deeply into each other’s eyes on several occasions, each (I believe) hoping the other heard and understood our points.  Neither of us changed our positions.  When it seemed to me that he had said all he wanted to say to me, I thanked him for sharing his perspective, and told him I respected what he had shared.  I meant it.  I’m not sure if he believed me, however, because I also told him that I was choosing to continue.  He said something like, “It’s your life.  I just hope you don’t hurt anyone.”  I sat down again, about 15 feet away from him.  He was now facing outward from the station with his sign and cup (which passers-by were adding to, even during our discussion), so we were effectively facing each other.  A little awkward; but it felt right to me to stay at that location.

I pondered what he had said.  I felt deeply sad to think that his life had been so traumatic (he made some allusions to things that had happened to him, “that you probably couldn’t handle hearing”) that even someone making a simple offer to listen struck him as a dangerous, high-stakes proposition.  I felt sad to think that the power of empathy was not apparent to him.  At one point in our conversation, I had mentioned that what I have personally liked best about receiving therapy myself is when the therapist just listens, with support and respect for my own process, and that that is what I enjoy offering to others.  He replied that if I had been to therapy myself, I definitely should not be doing something so dangerous as listening to others, because “you’re just as screwed up as they are!” Wow.  Not my perspective at all.  (He did follow up by volunteering that no one can solve another’s problems for them; we all have the answers inside ourselves.  I wholeheartedly agreed, and said that was part of why I love to do this, to help others uncover their own answers.)

As I sat there after our talk, within about a minute a young woman approached me and exclaimed how happy she was to see me there.  She took my photo, and when I handed her a flier explaining my tour, she shared that she runs a blog about mental illness, and that she thinks so much mental illness could be prevented or helped by more human interaction, listening, and empathy, so she was just thrilled that I was sitting there offering it.

What a range of perspectives.  This is an emotionally charged topic.

For the remainder of my time in that spot – about half an hour – I didn’t get any more “takers.”  I think perhaps that location was a bit too fast-paced for what I was offering.  But I did get several other smiles, waves, photos… those who saw me all seemed happy I was there, except for that one man.  As I stood up to leave, I walked over and thanked him again for sharing his truth and concerns with me.  He clearly still wasn’t happy that I was doing it.

I’m glad I at least took the time to listen to him.  And I certainly wish him the best on his path.

At the suggestion of my friend Dennis, who had stopped by to say hello toward the end, I then went to another public square about a block away.  It was quieter, especially since it was 7:00 in the evening by then.  Not many people walked by, but I did meet a man in his early 20s, wearing a zebra outfit and scooting around in his friend’s wheelchair.  We had an uplifting chat about how he likes to travel around the country, talking to strangers and urging people to live from love rather than fear.  Quite a poignant contrast.

Turns out he’s friends with the other man, too.

Life is very complex.  And this empathy tour is pretty interesting so far.

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A different experience

IMG_1566Wow.  Different experience yesterday.

I went to the steps of the huge downtown public library, in Copley Square.  The library sits right across the street from the Boston Marathon bombing memorial.  I always enjoyed giving empathy on the steps of the downtown Portland public library; and right near a memorial for a very emotionally charged event seemed like the perfect place to sit.

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I arrived around 3:00 in the afternoon.  Almost as soon as I sat down, a woman came up, smiling, and asked to photograph me.  I agreed, and asked her to also take one with my camera (pictured above).

After that, though, I got almost no response for about 20 to 30 minutes.  Occasional smiles or photos, but mostly a whole lot of nothing.  I wondered whether I needed to choose a new location.

And then.

A man in his early 60s, casually but neatly dressed, approached and asked me if I were asking for empathy or offering it.  When I said I was offering it, he began almost immediately to speak very intensely about what sounded like an incredibly painful experience he was living through.  He got more and more emotionally agitated, and he spoke for about half an hour.  His voice got louder and louder.  He gestured broadly.  He expressed anger, and at one point some tears welled up. His energy built and built.  His saliva became foamy.  His words, tone, and body language conveyed an almost unbearable desperation about the situation.

I could not tell whether his story was “real,” or whether some mental condition had conjured an elaborate, agonizing ordeal that he simply believed to be real.  The story involved multiple court cases; a newborn son in the Philippines whom he was not allowed to see, and who might be at risk of being sold; harassment and arrests by various law enforcement agencies, despite no legal or moral wrongdoing on his part; and multiple unanswered letters and phone calls to various government agencies, both locally and overseas.

He kept saying things like, “Who will listen to me?” and “Who will help me?”  But he didn’t seem to be actually seeking responses.  I listened intently for about ten minutes – while onlookers paused and took in the scene, wearing a variety of facial expressions – but then he began moving slightly down the sidewalk, addressing others on the library steps rather than me.  He shouted toward them for about another fifteen minutes.  I wondered if this opportunity for expression was helping him in some way.  I hoped it was.  However, the lack of immediate, tangible “help” from anyone listening seemed to disappoint, frustrate, and sadden him.  When he finally walked away, throwing a half-hearted “Thanks for your empathy” toward me over his shoulder, it didn’t appear that his emotional state had changed much.

I felt sad.  My hope and belief is generally that such opportunities for expression help people to feel better.  But, I guess it may not be true in all cases. And, of course they are only one small piece of someone’s life and circumstances.

After he left, I sat quietly for a few moments, with my sign folded so as not to be visible to others.  I let the experience soak in.

And then, with about a half hour left in what I had intended to be a 90-minute stint, I allowed the thoughts and feelings to ebb away… and I put up the sign again, and sat with a genuine – if a little less bright than earlier – smile, hoping to offer empathy to others.

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