Sun Days on Orcas | What do you exude?

||| SUN DAYS ON ORCAS BY EDEE KULPER |||

There was a tragic accident here a few weeks ago. I’ve been thinking about the person whose life completely changed after the moment of impact. Seeing as I’m not a family member, a close friend, a news reporter, or even an acquaintance, I don’t feel right about saying more about their situation. But I will say this…

Though my life and their life only intersected for a few brief moments while walking around on this earth, I know how they made me feel. Like the oft-quoted, “They may forget what you said – but they will never forget how you made them feel” (which, in researching my facts, I realized has been misattributed to Maya Angelou on millions of quote sites; according to the BBC, it originally appeared in a 1971 quote book ascribed to Carl W. Buehner).

Most people are good. I’ve learned that over and over. One summer while in college, I sold condensed encyclopedias door-to-door in New Jersey. Walking alone from house to house in humid heat for 13½ hours a day, six days a week, for almost three months is a lonely, solitary experience. The company told us the statistics – for every 31 houses you approach, 30 people will reject you. They will either slam the door on you, listen to you for a few moments and then gently close the door, tolerate your spiel, or let you in and listen to what you have to say. Of every 31 houses you approach, you will make one sale. That’s thousands of rejections for merely dozens of sales. We were told by the company to never give up; to keep going. To persevere.

I listened. I sat on the curb and cried a few times to purge the feelings of loneliness and rejection, but I never gave up. What I learned was a course in humanity. Aside from the rejections, which I gradually learned not to take personally, I experienced beauty in the many people who exuded love toward me. I’ll never forget the elderly man in his garage who saw me knocking on his front door. He called me over to his garage, where he was building a bird house. After a few moments of meaningful conversation, I just didn’t feel like starting in on my book spiel. As we concluded that much-needed interaction and I was about to walk away, he said in the most respectful, kind tone, “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” I could tell by the way he said it that he didn’t mean anything shallow or physical. He was not a dirty old man. We said goodbye, and I turned to walk away, not allowing the flood of tears to be seen. I sorely needed that kindness; that feeling of family; that grandfatherly love. That brief, fleeting interaction lifted me up not only in that moment but for a long time afterward.

Another time, while walking through an Iranian neighborhood, I knocked on a door and was invited into an apartment by a gracious woman who treated me like a guest she had been preparing all day to welcome. Her home was white, immaculate, and oh so clean. Here I was, a sweaty college kid at her door with nothing to offer but a smile, and she led me in to her white couch in front of a royal-looking spread of the most amazing Middle Eastern treats and delicacies that you can imagine. I was in shock. Beyond not wanting to sweat all over her couch in the dramatic shift into cold air conditioning, I couldn’t believe she was treating me like an honored guest. I set aside my spiel again, as she urged me to enjoy a plateful of beautiful food. Considering that my daily meals consisted of a bagel in the morning, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch, and a package of dry ramen before falling asleep in an attic every night (we had to go door-to-door to ask people if they’d provide a place for us to sleep all summer!), this was almost unimaginable.

There are more stories of people’s kindness that summer (and heartbreak too, as one woman whispered to me from her door, “Can you please help me??” as she quickly implied that she needed to get away from her abusive husband), and what I learned was that even though there will always be that percentage of humanity that hurts or neglects others, goodness isn’t the exception.

What I also learned from experience is that no matter how many good interactions happen, when someone isn’t nice to me, it carries more weight than the twenty kindnesses before it.

What are you like toward others who cross your path in daily life? I don’t mean the people you know and like. I mean the stranger who passes you on the street. Do you avert your eyes or smile? Does it depend on the kind of person who passes you, what they’re wearing, or how well-kempt they look? I know of someone at the store who always says hello but looks at me suspiciously, as if I have some ulterior motive that needs to be sniffed out. Do you give off a sense of suspicion or compassion in a stranger’s presence? Disinterest or awe? Cynicism or openness?

I know a lot of what we exude can come from a deep well of how we were treated by our families and by life’s circumstances. It isn’t easy to get past hard things. And we can all make others feel bad at times, too. I have a blunt, not-as-diplomatic-as-I’d-like side of me that feels justified in telling nice people when they have obvious habits that hurt themselves or others.

The person who was recently involved in an accident crossed my path a few brief times, and the feelings I got in those instances were purely good – that person treated me gently, kindly, and respectfully. I also observed their talents, and respected how they had chosen to hone their skills through life. When I heard about what had happened, I was absolutely shocked. Not because I knew them – I didn’t – but because the spirit they have needs to survive and thrive. The world is a better place with them in it. I don’t need to know them better to assume that people in their “care” – whether a stranger on the street or a close friend – will live a better life thanks to them.

Everyone who comes your way is in your care. You have the power to lift up and the power to tear down. With a word or a facial expression, you can shift the whole trajectory of a person’s hellish reality, or you can strip them of their on-top-of-the-world happiness.

Psychologists always say no one can make you feel anything. That would take paragraphs for me to address, so for brevity’s sake I’ll say this: If you don’t have time to do some self-talk or productive processing, any interaction can change you in that moment, for the good or for the bad.

Imagine that you’re no longer able to impact this world, either temporarily or permanently. Will people mourn for your loving spirit?

Be awed by every miracle of a human that comes your way. Be kind.