Last night, I cooked dinner at my house and my boyfriend had come over to my house to eat dinner. After dinner, we drove back to his house in his car - which is about 5 minutes away by car, and 25 minutes away by foot. Sometimes he'll drive me home in the morning if I'm in a hurry, but today it was really nice outside and I felt like walking back to my house with my dogs. (I have two dogs - a Chihuahua and a Miniature Pincher. Don't judge! I used to live in NYC.) I walked through various Berkeley neighborhoods, some of it absolutely posh (a throw back to the Norman Rockwell paintings of the 1950s') which is pretty much the neighborhood around where my boyfriend lives in Rockridge. Some of the houses due west of his house look like someone's artistic interpretation of the word "anarchy" (this is Berkeley, after all, where a variety of leftist opinions co-exist). Some of the neighborhoods (around Ashby BART, which is close to where I live) are "less-wealthy." Real Estate brokers euphemistically call my neighborhood "the Up and Coming Neighborhood." Of course, this is Berkeley, where the weather is perfect - and so housing prices are on the higher-end of the national average, even for the "less-wealthy." Unfortunately, last week, there was a fatal shooting (a botched burglary attempt) around the Ashby BART Station. (BART is short for "Bay Area Rapid Transit." It is one of San Francisco Bay Area's multi-layered public transit system.) Mitigating factors were that it occurred at 3am when there was no one around, but still, I guess I'm not going to go for a walk at that hour around my neighborhood.
On the way back to my house, I walked by Ashby BART. Nearby, there was a house with an older lady sitting on the porch in a rocking chair. She saw me and my dogs walking on the other side of the street and she beckoned me, "Come over!" and so I did. The woman was Black and appeared to be in her 70s. She said, "Oh your dogs are so cute!" as I walked over with my pack. When I got closer I smelled urine, and she introduced herself: "Hi, my name is Dana." I introduced myself, and then she said to me with sad eyes, "You seem to be a very nice lady. Thank you for coming over. Do you want to sit here?" She pointed to a chair next to her. I hesitated, because of the smell. It was pretty strong. I said, "Oh. Thank you, but I can only stay for a little bit. I have to go to work." She responded, again, with those sad eyes, "You know, I just lost a family member." I asked, "Oh... I'm so sorry. Were you close to that person?" She answered, "Yes, he was my husband." And then I felt really really sad for her and her sad eyes. But then, there was the smell of urine, which I could not bear. "Oh... I'm so ... very sorry. That must be hard... I don't even know how hard that must be." And then I didn't know what else to say. She invited me again: "Can you stay awhile?" And again, I responded with an "I'd love to but I really should get going." We repeated the conversation one more time, and then I was on my way.
What strikes me is my yearning to help women like Dana. There is so much need in the world, too much, in fact, and much less help and resources to go around, it seems. I wanted so badly to have the kind of life where I could stop and console a grieving window for just 30 minutes, instead of the 2 minutes I stood on her porch - no matter who they were. Yes, I live in Berkeley because I am a bit of a bleeding heart, but I also think that it is a universal trait that most women share ... If we had the time, we would stop and care for people or beings that might regularly fall in the category of the "other" and "other" usually equals for most people "I don't have time so I'm moving on after the initial pleasantries." Think Mother Teresa and Florence Nightingale. Childless as I am, I have the time to love other people's children. I also have time to worry about other people's parents and the well being of animals, plants, and the earth as a cohesive and intricately woven community, and when there is pain, I feel that pain as my own. But then again, I must earn my own living, and I am already sucked dry through my various volunteerisms. So I left Dana and moved on, much to my own disappointment of forsaking a beautiful opportunity to console someone in need of human kindness. And I believe in Karma.
But most of the pains in the world do not equate to our inevitable demise - except one: humanity's over-consumption of our resources. And yet we still live our lives as if we don't have a choice about how we live. I can't help but think that this is the greatest pain (or discomfort) that we humans, at least from the perspective of one citizen of the United States, must learn to overcome, to survive. We don't want to change, yes, but WE MUST. It will be difficult to change, I know, but I think it is possible. So I'd like to try out this theory with my own life. It'll be an experiment: can an average person like me change my life without giving up my life?
[March 2011 update: I have found that the word "change" does indeed entail a change in our lives. But I have learned to let go of my pretenses (the things that aren't working for me anymore), and make space for new experiences as I journey through my life. It's initially hard to let go of my old habits. But in the end, I have been grateful for these changes.]
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