Tuesday, June 5, 2012

A State of Mind

I'm amazed at how my attitudes affect my perception of reality. When Jean and I moved to the Boston area, I worried about how I would be treated by easterners whom I characterized as pushy, hurried and unfriendly. This characterization was shaped in part by a decades old trip to Boston. I had negotiated the busy freeways and round-a-bouts, when I came upon a billboard that warned 'Stop On Red Lights.' “This is a dangerous place,” I thought; and the image stuck.

So when we moved to Boston, I prepared myself. I was determined to be careful. I approached these eastern strangers with caution.

Shortly after we arrived, Jean and I began exploring neighborhoods looking for permanent housing. During one of these evening tours, I ran against a curb and ruptured the right front tire of one of our Prius. We stood by our car in the gathering dusk wondering what we should do. Then a woman drove by on her way home from work. She stopped and asked if she could help. Meg1 lived in the house near where we were stalled. When she saw our predicament, she offered to drive us to our apartment. Furthermore, she told us that her husband, Tony1, who worked the night shift and returned at 4 a.m., would change the tire for us the next morning. Thus reassured, we locked our disabled car and rode to our apartment with Meg.

Sure enough, at 8 am the next morning, Tony called and told us to drive over so that he could change our tire. When we arrived, Tony went into his garage and returned with a commercial jack. He hoisted the car and unscrewed the lug bolts so he could remove the tire. But try as he might, he couldn't budge it. The aluminum rim on the tire had welded itself to the axle. Tony went back to his garage and returned with a sledge hammer and a block of wood. He placed the block against the rim, and gave it a couple of whacks. The tire popped free, and he replaced it with our spare. As we returned his tools to the garage, I gave thanks that Tony was one of those people who was good with his hands. I admired his house, and he told me that he had built much of it himself.

I thanked Tony as we left. He said that he was just being a good neighbor. We couldn't pay Meg and Tony for their kindness, so we thanked them with one of Jean's homemade pecan pies.

If this had been our only experience of neighborliness, my stereotype of easterners might have survived intact. But this was just the first of a number of occurrences. A few days later, Jean bought a candle for our apartment and then realized we had no matches. She set off on foot down Woburn's Main Street to find some. She stopped at a local restaurant and asked if they had a book of matches that she could buy. The woman behind the counter went back to the kitchen and returned with a lighter. “We don't have any matches,” she said, ”but you can borrow this if you like.” Jean was flabbergasted by this generous offer. She declined and then went to a nearby convenience store. The owner didn't have matches for sale either, but he gave Jean some he had under the counter.

Later, Jean and I purchased some things for the kitchen at a local store. We told the sales woman that we had newly arrived from the midwest. She said, “I hope people are treating you well. Sometimes Massachusettsans are know as 'Massholes.'” We assured her that people were very kind. Jean then asked her how she was doing. She responded by telling us of a bout with breast cancer and the double mastectomy that resulted. We wished her well in her healing. I left the store amazed. Here we were, midwestern strangers on the east coast. But rather than feeling alien, we were greeted with amazing hospitality and shared confidences.

These positive experiences continue as we settle into the Woburn community. Each morning we walk to the Dunkin Donuts on Main Street. The staff now have our orders ready when we arrive – a small half caf/half decaf coffee and a cinnamon-raison bagel with peanut butter for Jean - a medium decaf coffee with a toasted multigrain bagel and peanut butter for me. We have learned the names of some of the servers and regular customers. One of the staff, a woman with an hispanic accent, told us she speaks five languages. A group of six church ladies have their own special table. They come in for coffee and conversation after attending morning mass.

Up to now I have shared the positives in our move. Yet I would be less than honest if I didn't acknowledge the negatives. I feel rootless and sometimes lost. I'm no longer a resident of Madison, but I'm not yet feeling at home in Boston. I am sometimes depressed and unmotivated. I am frustrated that we haven't found a house.

At this point a deeper learning is beginning to take place. Even though I'm aware that negative stereotypes warp my understanding of reality, I have been less aware of my presumption that “creation owes me.” Somewhere deep inside me I assume that if I'm a good person, my life should be free of distress and sadness. Furthermore, I carry the unconscious belief that my judgments of right and wrong somehow carry universal validity.

I know in my head that “Living with soul” is not a guarantee of happiness, nor is it a guarantee that my values are infallible. Even when I am following my dream, I will experience setbacks and sorrows. Even when my intentions are pure, I will not possess complete understanding of all situations and circumstances. Yet in spite of my head knowledge, something in me still insists that creation owes me.

I feel I'm being treated unjustly by life, and I respond with a negative stance toward life. I tend to see the glass as half empty. Because I am aware of injustices in the world, I often interpreted human intentions, particularly those of people with whom I disagree, in a negative light. It is as if I have a negative CD playing continuously in my head. “That person doesn't know what he's talking about.” “Her actions are governed by greed.” “He doesn't deserve the acclaim he is receiving.” In all of this I refuse to acknowledge the source of my negativity. I insist that I'm not a pessimist. I'm just being realistic.

After I left the urban ministry with chronic fatigue syndrome in 1998, I had a dream. A woman and I were standing by a wall that resembled the Viet Nam war memorial. I asked my therapist why I had this dream some 25 years after the end of the war. He replied, “Your war is over.” His response struck with the power of a sledge hammer. Psychologically I had been at war during my 25 year involvement with Madison Urban Ministry. Those whom I encountered in my struggle for justice were enemies. I was even suspicious of the faith communities who supported MUM because they weren't strong enough in promoting justice. I had yet to realize that justice, without love and compassion, is sterile and judgmental - lacking in soul.

I still had positive hopes and visions for making our society more just. Yet I continued to focus on the negative attributes of people and social situations. I even defined myself in terms of my deficits. Life, for me, was a struggle against powerful negative institutions and forces.

For these reasons, I came to Boston “ready to do battle” with easterners whom I had stereotyped as pushy, hurried, and unfriendly. Instead, I was overwhelmed by the warmth of people whom I encountered. This life transition is challenging me to examine the source of my negativity. I am being given the opportunity to live more soulfully, to remain conscious of my prejudgments and my sense of entitlement. Such soulful living is encouraged by my little grandson, Gus. When I am with him, the child in me leaps for joy. I'm grateful for this transition in my life, for the insights it has engendered and for the past experiences which have led me to this growing understanding.

1 Not their actual names.

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