What is compassion supposed to look like?

At Sangha tonight, we were discussing the Four Brahmaviharas (love, compassion, joy, and equanimity) and in particular the conversation turned to compassion. We read an article ("The Four Qualities of Love") by Thich Nhat Hanh [see also here], which said in part:

The second aspect of true love is karuna, the intention and capacity to relieve and transform suffering and lighten sorrows. Karuna is usually translated as “compassion,” but that is not exactly correct. “Compassion” is composed of com (“together with”) and passion (“to suffer”). But we do not need to suffer to remove suffering from another person. Doctors, for instance, can relieve their patients’ suffering without experiencing the same disease in themselves. If we suffer too much, we may be crushed and unable to help. Still, until we find a better word, let us use “compassion” to translate karuna. 

And I started to think about my years with Wife. How did I react when she lost it? (See, for example, any of the posts tagged "Wife loses it" ... just for a start.) Or never mind a complete meltdown -- how did I react when she was just plain angry or morose or anxious or upset -- when she was suffering and needed me to be there?

Well mostly I was there. That is, ... early in our marriage I used to offer suggestions on how she could fix things, but I rapidly learned that was a bad idea. She could tell me right away why every single one of my suggestions was stupid and doomed to fail. So mostly I just sat and listened to her and tried to swallow the pain as fast as she could dish it out ... hoping that somehow if I swallowed enough of it there would be less pain available to torment her and she might start to hurt less.

So far as I could tell, this approach didn't really work; and unfortunately it wasn't easy for me to think of alternatives. But what caught my attention tonight was the line, "we do not need to suffer to remove suffering from another person." That would have been good to know, because certainly my approach to easing Wife's suffering -- sitting and listening and swallowing all the pain that she vomited forth -- caused me an enormous amount of suffering in turn. I did it because I told myself that I could be strong for both of us and therefore could be strong enough to take it. (Compare that with the posts here and here.) But in fact it hurt like hell. And now all these years later I read that this means I was doing it wrong. So I talked about this with the others in the Sangha, and explained that I didn't understand what (on this measure) I should have been doing instead? How could I have been compassionate without drinking in all of Wife's pain? What is compassion supposed to look like?

I can't say that the ensuing discussion was terribly helpful. Of course in a sense the whole discussion is academic now, because I'm not around Wife any longer. But I'd still like to know. Maybe some day I'll need to use these skills with somebody else, God forbid. And if nothing else I'd enjoy knowing the answer just because answers are more gratifying than questions.

In any event, one woman started by saying that in any difficult situation you have to have compassion for yourself first. Know what you need and what your own boundaries are because you can't help anybody else if you yourself are beaten into the ground. (But wait, ... doesn't this same article say a little farther on that when you truly understand the other person then the boundaries between you melt away?) And sure, this sounds like the kind of advice I could have gotten anywhere. But what is she telling me to have done, in practical terms? When Wife was weeping and crying out about how everything in her life was going to be bleak and miserable from this day forward, ... what would this woman have had me say that wouldn't sound smug or clueless or uncaring, or that wouldn't make me sound like a ninny?

Then another woman told a very difficult story about a time when her son was on suicide watch, and when she and her husband were frantic to do anything they could to help him. The lama she was seeing at the time (and still sees, in addition to attending our Sangha too) told her to take no action and not to interfere, but to spend her whole day in prayer and meditation. And in the end her son didn't kill himself, so it worked! Which is great. I'm glad her son didn't kill himself, of course. But it is hard for me to look back, in retrospect, and think of that as helpful advice.

It would be fair to reply that I might not recognize good advice if I saw it. After all, to all appearances my approach didn't work. What makes me think I have any idea what the right approach ought to look like? And I guess I don't. That's one reason I'm writing this out now. As things turned out, I finally ended up pulling back because I recognized that I wasn't doing any good. (This came after lots of variations on trying to be helpful or compassionate or simply present, all of which failed more or less spectacularly.) I would tell her that I was sorry, that I wished things were better for her, but that I just wasn't smart enough to know what to do ... or, depending on the concrete situation, that it was literally out of my hands and there was nothing I could do. This didn't solve anything, but it actually didn't make things worse (I had feared it would) and it got me out of the line of fire. And in the end, as you all know, I pulled so far back that I asked her for a divorce, and then moved out, and then we legally separated.

Is that what compassion is supposed to look like? Somehow I can't think so. Surely the Buddha himself, or even Thich Nhat Hanh, would have figured out a more intelligent approach.

Let me know if you think of something.
   

11,608 days

Off and on over the last year I've alluded to having had troubles with my old car (see for example here and here), culminating in buying a new car almost two months ago (see here). The last step in the process, naturally, was then to get rid of the old one. Well I dithered for a while, and inquired in a desultory way about the prospects for donating it to charity. Then I went online and found some outfit that will buy old junker cars from you. I'm sure the rates amount to theft, but they do all the work and come pick them up ... and you can set it up by clicking a few buttons on a website. Convenience wins out. So I made the arrangements yesterday, and the guy came today with a tow truck to drag it away -- something like 11 months after I started having these troubles.

I was shot last night. Obviously after everything else this last step was a triviality, but it felt huge. But I didn't realize how huge it felt until I decided to go out and get some groceries I didn't need; I drove to the store, walked across the parking lot ... and realized I had left my wallet at home. With all my money and my driver's license. In other words, I wasn't thinking at all. So I drove home (much more carefully!) and gave up on the groceries.

I've had this kind of total brain-fade before, and it often comes when I have just finished some huge and emotionally-draining project. So realizing that it had just happened again made me step back and put this "last step" in a little more perspective. This car was the last big artifact from my married life ... supposing you don't count the boys, of course. It was the first new car that Wife and I bought together -- in fact, it was the first really big purchase of any kind that we made together. At the time we had been married just a little over three years. And it stuck with us, or we stuck with it, ever after. It was a 1988 Honda Civic DX four-door sedan. It ran like a dream (well, until it didn't) and had the tightest turning circles of any car it has ever been my pleasure to drive. Manual transmission, manual steering, manual windows (Wife told the car dealer, "For $2000 [the difference in price] I can roll down my own windows"), manual locks. And all it needed was regular maintenance -- not that it ever got that from me at all reliably, but still. Of course by the time it reached 31 years old the fabric that covered the seats had split in a bunch of places; there was a patch of rust slowly growing on the back near the gas cap; the air conditioning had been out of order for over ten years; and the 268,000 miles it had traveled were starting to leave signs in basic wear and tear. But it was still a wonderful car.

Then it started having troubles that I couldn't get fixed because the mechanic couldn't get parts any more. It started overheating uncontrollably. And so I borrowed other cars (from Wife, from Mother) to get around, in the process letting this one sit long enough that the battery died. And after a while I gave up any hope of ever getting it repaired. I bought a new one, and today sold the old one to a junkyard for $80.

But I did the math to find out how long we'd owned it. And it came to 11,608 days -- almost 32 years. In fact, when I compare that number to the 12,004 days that the marriage itself lasted, the comparison is interesting. 12004 - 11608 = 396 = 365 + 31. The marriage itself lasted only a year and a month -- thirteen months -- longer than the ownership of this car, although of course they were offset by a bit. [And even that calculation counts as part of the marriage those years between when I moved out of the house and when we finalized the agreement.]

But I think that's why it felt like such a big deal. It's really been a very long time.

My next door neighbor texted me this afternoon, "Wow. The Little Honda That Could has left its forever parking space. Fare thee well old friend." It was sweet and I thanked her.

It was the right thing to do. It had to happen. And 31 years is a fantastic run for a car that's in daily use. But I'm still a little sad.
    

Scarlett

A while ago I mentioned that I had tried to get in touch with an old school friend named Scarlett. Sure. Let me tell you how that worked out.

First, a few words about what Scarlett was like back in college. (This means 40 years ago, or so.) She looked nothing like Vivian Leigh. But her attitude was strictly "Take no prisoners." She might have been "only" a freshman when I was already a sophomore; but she had read more literature than I had ever heard of, had heard more music than I knew had ever been written, and had cast-iron opinions about all of it. Also she was a show-off, not only intellectually but in dress and style. She replaced the interior door in her dorm room with a beaded curtain, and sat around in a silk smoking jacket. In all these respects she was maybe a little like Bunthorne.

I was afraid of her scorn, but I also found her brass bitchiness really attractive. When I first met Wife, some years later, the very first thing I thought about her was that she reminded me strongly of Scarlett. (They even had the same hair color and general build, though Scarlett was a little taller.) Anyway, the flamboyance together with the arrogance are why I call her "Scarlett". She also dearly loved the color red.

[Update added July 19, 2020: I've thought about this some more since then, and realized that I was partway in love with Scarlett for exactly these reasons. Also this is part of why I fell in love with Wife so quickly, because she reminded me of Scarlett. That must be part of the reason I wanted to get back in touch with her, too.]

We all graduate. We lose touch with each other. I marry Wife and lose touch with everybody I used to know, because my new life is so bloody crazy. So ... fast-forward a few decades.

From time to time I would check the Internet to see if I could find any trace of people I used to know. It was partly a fantasy, partly a distraction. But twelve years ago I found an article she had posted online, and what I thought was her email address. I sent an email to the address commenting on the article, and got an error message back. Oh well. No other signs.

And every few years I'd look again. There were indications she was still in the same city where I'd found her the first time, still doing the same kind of thing ... but no clue at all towards a physical or electronic address.

And then finally this year it looked like my travel schedule would take me into the same ... large urban area in whose orbit she was living. (If she was still there.) So I did a few more searches, and -- lo and behold! -- she is now working somewhere new, somewhere that posts the email addresses of selected personnel on the web. If it's really the same Scarlett, I can reach her now!

Actually, when I first saw that my travel schedule seemed to be veering in that direction, I also checked our college's alumni directory and got a street address. No guarantee that it was current, but it's something.

So several weeks ago I sent her a card.

When a while went by and I had heard nothing, I sent an email.

When another while went by and I had still heard nothing, I sent a second email ... this time asking her opinion of an article I had seen about some Romantic composer I had never heard of before, a guy named Korngold. I figured it would be right up her alley.

Finally I got a reply, as follows:

Hello Hosea,
I've been out of town for a few weeks, and was very surprised to find not only your card, but also two emails in my work in-box when I returned.  I'd be interested to know how you got my work email address, since it's never been posted in our alumni directory.  Also, I must ask you not to use it again -- my work email is strictly for work.
Yes, I remember you -- we corresponded briefly after college, too.  I recall that in the last letter you sent, you said your life had become very, very busy and that you would not have time to reply to me any longer...but that you would be happy to receive any letters I might send.  You may recall I didn't reply.
...So I have to ask:  why the sudden urgency to get in touch with me now?  It surely can't be because of Korngold!

Best wishes,
Scarlett

Aha.

In other words, "Dear Hosea, You were a flaming asshole thirty-five years ago and therefore I wrote you off forever. Why the fuck are you contacting me now?" I suppose it is a fair question.

I sent her a reply in which I apologized for having been a jerk, and asked her forgiveness. I also told her that if she did not reply, I wouldn't pursue it. She has not replied.

Why did I do it? I hoped maybe I could re-establish some channel of communication, as I have done with Marie and Schmidt. Doubtless part of it is that I was so fascinated by her back when we were students, although my attraction to high-maintenance women has dimmed somewhat after Wife and D. And I was curious to learn if the resemblance to Wife carried through in some of their life experiences. Did Scarlett have the same struggles with mental health? (In retrospect I wouldn't be surprised if she had been a touch bipolar back then.) Did Scarlett have gastric bypass surgery for her weight? Did she ever establish any kind of permanent romantic bond with anyone? (She still goes by her maiden name, but that proves nothing.)

And is she happy with where her life has taken her? I was hoping to learn that.

I guess I won't. Damn shame.

[Update added July 19, 2020: Again, in retrospect I can make this easier. I got in touch with her again partly because I wanted to know if she had turned out the way Wife had, and partly because I had been in love with her way back when. So I could still think about her and sigh just a bit. Her reply, when I finally did reach her, confirmed that she was just as much a narcissist as Wife or D, and that I was better off not falling into her orbit again. Also, from what I could tell by stalking researching her on the Internet, it looked like she had spent the last thirty years in graduate school. Apparently she had given seminars and contributed to a book, but I saw no indication that she ever actually got a Ph.D. out of the whole thing. So in asking whether she was happy, I would have been asking her to reckon with some kind of academic failure. (That might be another reason she wanted to avoid the contact ... fear of having to explain where her life has gone since the Good Old Days when she was a Watson Scholar.) Anyway, that would have been malicious of me. Yes, I rationalized it to myself by suggesting that I could tell her why I think it is fine to be outside the Academy, but that's a little bit like saying "Your life would have been so much happier if you hadn't jumped off that cliff." Again, malicious. It's really just as well she blocked further communication. And I guess I really was being something of an ass. I wish I could see these things before I do them, rather than always only after.]

Wanting to be distracted

I'm starting to think my default setting is wanting-to-be-distracted.

Thich Nhat Hanh's Fifth Mindfulness Training reads as follows:

Aware of the suffering caused by unmindful consumption, I am committed to cultivating good health, both physical and mental, for myself, my family, and my society by practicing mindful eating, drinking, and consuming. I will practice looking deeply into how I consume the Four Kinds of Nutriments, namely edible foods, sense impressions, volition, and consciousness. I am determined not to gamble, or to use alcohol, drugs, or any other products which contain toxins, such as certain websites, electronic games, TV programs, films, magazines, books, and conversations. I will practice coming back to the present moment to be in touch with the refreshing, healing and nourishing elements in me and around me, not letting regrets and sorrow drag me back into the past nor letting anxieties, fear, or craving pull me out of the present moment. I am determined not to try to cover up loneliness, anxiety, or other suffering by losing myself in consumption. I will contemplate interbeing and consume in a way that preserves peace, joy, and well-being in my body and consciousness, and in the collective body and consciousness of my family, my society and the Earth.

Of all the Mindfulness Trainings, this must be the one I have the hardest time with. As soon as I wake up in the morning I reach for my phone, to check my email and read the news. At work, if I'm not absorbed in something I'll check the Internet for stupid stuff or hit up the vending machines for snacks. By the time I come home I really want to eat (even if I'm not hungry) and I really want a drink (even if I'd rather not put on the excess weight or feel like I can't put it down). Passing up any of these distractions is really tough.

In the past I've said that I'm trying to avoid "anxiety" but it's not really that. It's just the state of wanting-to-be-distracted. And I've written about it before. (Try, for example, here, here, here, here, here, and here. There are probably others too.)

What causes it? Who knows? Of course I can always find superficial things to drape themselves in the feeling, so that I can say, "Look, I feel anxious about X." But I think actually it is just a feeling. And as long as I continue to allow myself distractions, I suppose I'll continue to feel it. I wonder what would happen if I went back to a regular daily meditation practice? I wonder if it would slowly ebb in intensity?

Maybe I'll try that later.
   

Out of your past

How do you react to someone who appears unexpectedly out of your past?

I don't know for sure how often this has happened to me -- not often, if ever. But in general my idea is … well, is it someone I want to see? Do they want something from me? How did this happen? These are all questions or concerns about the person generally, and about what's going on here and now. It's also the kind of reaction I got from, for example, Inga when I first contacted her out of the blue after years.

Turns out there's another way to respond, though, which is to pick up the conversation based on the very last encounter you had with that person, even if it was decades ago. I've seen this at least twice.

When Wife was first diagnosed with lupus she was afraid she didn't have long to live. And one of the things she decided she wanted to do before dying was to straighten out things with an old boyfriend, someone she had been with in a frustrating relationship before she met me. So she looked him up on Google, and then wrote him to tell him about her diagnosis. He wrote back, very concerned about an almost-meeting that she had almost-engineered twenty years before, the last time the two of them were in the same city. And he wanted to make very clear to her that he was absolutely devoted to his wife and she should get any ideas about cheating with him out of her head.

She told me she wanted to write back to say, I'm not trying to fuck you -- I'm trying to tell you I'm dying! But in the end she just dropped it.

Over the last month or two I have looked here and there on Google and finally succeeded in tracking down a current address for a woman named Scarlett, that I used to know in college. So I mailed her. It took a while, but I finally got a reply courteously asking me not to use her work email address any more (but giving me her personal address), and asking why after all this time I was contacting her, … and reminding me of something really shitty I had said in my last letter to her 35 years ago, to which she had decided not to respond.

Wow. I never remembered saying such a thing. But she seemed to remember it like it was yesterday. Of course, she was the one who was shat upon, not me; so I suppose it makes sense that her memory would be a little bit sharper. But still … wow.

And I wonder -- what makes it possible to remember such a specific hurt that long? Is it the nature of the wound, or the nature of the person wounded? In other words, does it say something about Scarlett that she has "held this grudge close to her heart and nurtured it well"? (That was an expression Wife used to describe herself, back when I first met her. I laughed and thought it was a joke. It wasn't.) Or is it just that anyone who had gotten a letter as douchey as the one she quotes from me would remember the sting in exactly the same way? (I have no recollection of writing this letter, but I totally believe it. I was really self-centered back then.)

I don't know the answer. I wish I did.