transparency

Recently I was watching the movie Midnight Clear, which is about five sad, lonely people whose accidental interactions with each other save them from their own desperate pain.  And as I was watching it, I kept wondering, why do we put up walls?
One of the five was especially poignant to me.  An old woman who lived alone, a lapsed churchgoer, an abandoned mother.  Few people noticed her, but when anyone was concerned for her, she readily made up stories about her grandchildren, about family coming for Christmas, anything to make them think that she was happy.  That everything was okay.

She was so afraid to let people help her.  It's hard to be vulnerable.  But why does our society tell us that there is nothing more important than independence?  Even when we are staggering under the weight of the world, when we are broken, lost, when we have forgotten what hope feels like...even then we can't simply admit that we need other people.

I do this too.  But here's the truth:  I'm not enough.  I am not strong enough to even survive one day in the harsh, cruel world that would be this life without the people in it.

"We should never, ever make a hierarchy out of pain."  These are the wise words of a friend, spoken after a group discussion about sexual abuse.  We all have our stories, and we all have been through pain.  The worst possible way to respond to this is to say, "You don't understand."  Of course not - nobody understands exactly how it feels to be you.  But at the same time, of course they do.  They have their own pain to bear.  And there is no more blessed way to live through pain than to lean on those around you.

So, God give me the humility to ask for help when I need it, and the clear sight to see and embrace the people around me who need to be loved.

Here's an excerpt from a book I just finished, called The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian.  Less poetic than some, maybe, but profound all the same.

"How will you get home?" she asked.
"Most nights, I walk home.  I hitchhike.  Somebody usually picks me up.  I've only had to walk the whole way a few times."
She started to cry.
FOR ME!
Who knew that tears of sympathy could be so sexy?
"Oh, my God, Arnold, you can't do that," she said.  "I won't let you do that.  You'll freeze.  Roger will drive you home.  He'll be happy to drive you home."
I tried to stop her, but Penelope ran over to Roger's car and told him the truth.
And Roger, being of kind heart and generous pocket, and a little bit racist, drove me home that night.
And he drove me home plenty of other nights, too.
If you let people into your life a little bit, they can be pretty damn amazing.