Tag: Depression

I’ve been living at my current apartment complex for almost 1.5 years.

This is only the second time I’ve resigned a lease in my short (but somehow long-seeming) life. I like to experience what it’s like living at different places and within different parts of the city – although it’s just been a single city. And I have no aspirations to own just yet, or more accurately, for quite some time. I like to know that I can go wherever, whenever, but the irony is not lost on me that I have not yet taken this self-made offer up and made the move.

But my own comfort is not the not point of the story. In fact, it’s my discomfort that is.

4.5 months ago, new neighbors moved in next door. Not a single neighbor, not a family, and not a couple, but rather a single mom and a baby. I don’t know the full story behind them, but I know she is young, and the baby, well, obviously the baby is young. And while I do not (and physically will never) know what it’s like to be a single mother, I appreciate the loving challenge it might be.

I could never really hear my previous neighbors: a young couple. I don’t think they were actually home often. The perfect neighbors.

Nearly immediately since my current neighbors moved in, I was greeted by screams of cries on a near-constant basis. Okay, maybe near-constant is an exaggeration, but daily, sometimes multiple times per day, for at least 15 minutes but more frequently an hour (and usually around 5 or 6am), I could hear it. I pay $1,500 per month for just amenities apparently because these walls are thinner than paper. And I know paper well – my skin tone is whiter than it.

I can’t necessarily complain about a baby. Not at least to the front office. What type of monster complains about a baby? I did talk to my neighbor though. It didn’t particularly help. But hey, at least it was acknowledged, I guess?

But this, also, is not the point of the story. (I am truly the master of plot twists.)

In 2020, it goes without saying there’s a lot going on. (Oh well, I guess I’ll say it anyway: there’s a lot going on.)

Sometimes 10 years contains nothing exciting for history; other times, 100 pages of textbooks can happen in one. We are living in the latter this year.

And sometimes I wonder to myself, even when I am aggravated by the crying and screaming*: in what kind of world is this baby going to grow up? What kind of world are we leaving for this baby, for our children, for the future?

*This is not a metaphor for how we’re all crying and screaming right now, but that, too, could have worked.

And so I originally set out to write an essay about this topic, and to go into the wars we’re fighting, the planet we’re also fighting, the pandemic we’re facing, the economic anxieties we’re feeling, and the people we’re failing. It seems like such little is being done to combat any of these, and although life as an average is probably better now than it was many years ago, the average life isn’t currently good enough compared to what it should be, given the success in innovation we have experienced. And at times, perhaps with the success of social media and growth of global media, it seems like we’re just getting worse.

However, when I thought more about this subject, I realized, for me, on a personal level, this idea originates prior to inception (or conception). The question isn’t, “What world is this baby going to grow up in?” But instead is, “Do I want to bring a baby into this world?” I didn’t have a choice in whether I wanted to be brought into this world. I don’t plan an early departure, but sometimes I wonder if I would’ve ever made an entrance, given the choice.

Depending on the writing at hand, the piece should potentially be relevant to all, relatively speaking. This – this is personal to me.

And that’s it. I could elaborate this further, but I’ll keep it short and sweet. After all, sometimes life seems short and sweet, and other times, it seems long and bitter.

When I look around at what’s going on in the world in the present, learn the pain that occurred in the past, and ponder the direction of the future, I wonder if it makes sense to subject someone to life.

When I reflect upon my own issues, my internal battles in becoming who am I today, if who I am today is even a good person, my ignored conflicts, struggles, and demons, the weight of the realizations I’ve come to while maturing exponentially in only a short amount of time called the late 20s, and my personal views resulting from it – I wonder why I would try to do that to someone else. Someone else who didn’t ask for it.

Life is short and sweet until it’s not. And when it’s not, it feels so damn long and bitter.

Oxford Languages defines “Empathy” as the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.

It also defines “Unoriginal” as lacking originality; derivative, which is an apt description of an essay that begins by stating how a word is defined in the dictionary.

I personally define it – empathy – as the ability to think of how my words, actions, or general demeanor towards someone might affect them or be interpreted by them, what my expressed emotions or outward feelings might do to theirs internally. (Certainly, empathy also means putting yourself in the shoes of others who might be impacted by the steps of others and not just your own; but in this context, it makes the most sense to focus on the former for the purpose of this piece.)

The word has not been around for long, only coming into existence about 100 years ago, yet the concept has been with us since the beginning of human nature – not that we’ve been around for long, either.

Ironically, the term initially described the projection of one’s own self onto others, such as one’s feelings or movements onto objects and creatures in the world around them. In other words, the feeling I might gain watching a mountain rise in the distance as I come closer to its base.

But then, prior to that, sympathy was the closest we got. And therein lies the problem: although “Empathy” is available in our vocabulary, we do not come close enough to this characteristic in our normal lives. It’s easy to show sympathy for someone whose parent just died, especially when you the know the person, because all sympathy requires is for you to feel sorrow for the individual – because you know it’s sad when a parent dies; this is common knowledge.

But it’s much more difficult to exhibit empathy for someone who is not only in a situation you may have never experienced, but one you may never experience or haven’t previously given thought to.

One such scenario recently occurred for me. I was at best naïve and at worst ignorant to have not contemplated it months into a pandemic: I was talking to my parents, who I have seen sparingly during these strange times even though we live in close proximity, and they were discussing how depressing it’s been for them to not leave the house except for the essentials. They’re beginning to get up there in age (as the idiom goes when you don’t want to disclose an older friend or relative’s age), and so they’ve been taking safety precautions seriously. And when they told me this, it made me realize how I hadn’t thought about them in this regard, at all. Sure, I figured my parents, like most people in this nation and the world right now, are going through their own struggles, but I’d been concentrating on mine, what I’ve been going through and how I’ve felt about it, how it’s affected me, and how it’s had an impact on my life and once normal (or weird, depending on who you ask) lifestyle. At no point until this conversation had I thought to myself: “I wonder how being stuck inside almost all hours of every day makes my parents feel? I know how it makes me feel, which is what I’ve been paying attention to.” And this made me rethink what was essentially my selfishness here and in other ways. My parents were basically locked inside to avoid the risk of becoming infected with a potentially fatal sickness, unable to live their lives how they would like to, a disruption in how they otherwise would. I, on the other hand, was still out and about, with some minor precautions in tow but not enough to alter my life to the extent of it being hindered.

At this juncture, one reading might comment that if someone is quote unquote scared, then that person should stay inside and let everyone else go about their day and life. This is not the mind of an empathetic person. An empathetic person would pause to consider the reasons a person chooses to not take the risk, understand that the person is not excited to effectively halt their life, and be aware of the fact that this person still probably has to make trips outside for certain essentials – the risk of which is compounded by the actions of everyone around them. Then at this time an empathetic person would formulate a more informed and less selfish or stupid (I will not mince words) response.

Now I could be empathetic, too, and ask myself why a person might make such a selfish or stupid comment in the first place. Is the person upset they lost their job as a result of the pandemic? Is the person unhappy with themselves and accustomed to using social events as an escape from whatever is causing them to be unhappy? Surely, both of these are factors we must take into account. One is where community – since we can’t count on the government – can provide its support. The other requires introspection. But how can a community provide its support if the community doesn’t demonstrate empathy? And how can one be introspective if a stigma around mental health exists, or affordable and available care doesn’t exist, or one is simply lazy? The root cause runs deep.

I guess the key to being empathetic is to think through other people’s experiences from all different angles, since we all have different experiences. Yet who has the time to dedicate to this endeavor, when each of us is struggling to keep our heads above the surface? The key can only unlock the door if the door is not under water.

So, I do not blame those who are not empathetic for their lack of empathy, but I do not absolve them of their fault, guilt, or issues they cause or lives they hurt with their lack of empathy.

I digress: I could continue to speak to examples relevant to the COVID-19 pandemic, but such examples are low hanging fruit on the tree with the roots that run deep, and so I will further explore other situations that were preexisting to the current condition we find ourselves in… and I will tie the essay up with a story about the pandemic because I can’t help but share an anecdote.

Accordingly, this observation can be taken beyond the scope of the COVID-19 pandemic into our former lives when things were “normal.”

Our empathy (or lack thereof) is most readily apparent in the tribalism our political theater consists of today, as the most prime and primal example, but it also exists in other ways, and let’s not fool ourselves: our country and every country now and ever has always had a penchant for tribalism in political practice. Rather than look to solve our own problems, we look to provoke them, and in so doing we place the issue on the backs of others as if they were the ones that created it. We don’t try to see their point of view; we don’t try to see them at all, pretending they don’t exist as humans with thoughts and feelings and struggles and hopes and emotions.

This is equally observable on both sides of the tribal aisle, and it is evidently multiple layers thick, we realize when we slice the outer shell. I might look at someone who is cheering on the deportation of human beings (and often times degradation associated with it) and mock the compassion and intelligence of such individuals for being able to forget that these faceless and nameless people whose lives are being uprooted for worse are, in fact, human; but then to prove to myself I am not a hypocrite, I need to ask myself why such individuals are seemingly taking joy in this so-called winning – the why (and how) is more important than the what. But again, that doesn’t absolve them from being unempathetic, and again, I digress.

Now that I’ve tried and likely failed to prove I’m not a hypocrite, I can dive deeper into the subject of people being dicks. (I’m sure there’s a more appropriate title for which to label the general, indirect noun of people, but are we so deserving of a different name when this slur suits us so well?)

The other hellish haven for empathy’s antonym is social media. It’s so very easy to forget other people are real with the anonymity the online world provides, even when its friends and not strangers, and even when we can see the person’s name and picture. In this fake view we’ve constructed of reality, we’re tuned into our own presence and honed-in on our echo chamber. When we see a dissenting view that challenges the one we have crafted into a piece of our personality, our automatic judgment is to judge the person or thing causing us to question ourselves. At this time, the ability to understand and share the feelings of another disintegrates like the fragile picture of ourselves falling to the floor. We lose the capacity to be considerate and resort to take-downs that no one wins because we both end up on the ground. (And not to stray too far from the topic at hand, but everyone always has an opinion.)

I would never consider giving empathy to the devil, yet for some reason we treat our fellow humans like the devil in this respect. I wish I could say it’s just on the internet where we see this anomaly (ha) occur, but no, we’re seeing instances of unempathetic actions in our daily lives. (Of course, the most prominent examples find a home online.) I witnessed one such instance firsthand, and have had the fun of being a background character in others.

***

About six weeks ago I got into the elevator on the ground floor of my building to head up to my apartment on the seventh floor. The lease management company had recently issued a mask requirement within the common places of the complex – lobby, gym, club room, and elevators. This lease management company is strict about enforcing its policies, too.

Anyway, this was early July, soon after I made a trip to the ER due to shortness of breath, a lingering long-term effect that persisted for weeks after I had “recovered” from COVID-19 (I finally can confidently say I feel alright again).

And so I got into the elevator, and six other people got in with me. It wasn’t a particularly small elevator, but it also wasn’t especially large, either. Three of the six are wearing masks. One man in his late 30s, who was wearing a mask and scrubs, asked the group of three why they weren’t wearing masks. It seemed like a reasonable question for two obvious reasons: one, employees at the strict lease management company are not afraid to enforce the rules, so it’s less resistance just to do it; and two, there’s a chance wearing a mask does help mitigate the risk of spreading the virus, and even if it doesn’t, it at least shows an individual acknowledges another individual as being a real, living, breathing person (for now). I personally wouldn’t have asked the question because I usually shy away from conflict and generally am not in a mood to talk to strangers… but still a reasonable question nonetheless.

The indignant response of the condescending group of three, two males and one female, included an eye roll, stare, and glare, and the first of multiple comments being: “Well, you’re wearing your mask so aren’t you safe?” With a smug undertone in the young woman’s voice. (Oddly enough, I couldn’t decide if the combative, immature emotion she spoke with was a result of her truly believing she was besting him in this situation, or if it was actually her realizing she was full of shit and just acting out because she’d been called out. If someone is willing to be that rude about this issue, I have to imagine they at least realize wearing a mask isn’t to protect you but is to protect the others around you, because the alternative is that they have an opinion on a subject they know nothing about; but let’s be real here, they probably do have an opinion on a subject they know nothing about, and they probably do realize how a mask works and just don’t give a shit about others.)

I was standing there in disbelief, as I expected the answer to the question to either just be silence or an, “Oh, my bad,” and we all carry on with our day. My disbelief then grew greater with the group of three’s next few ignorant comments, which were in retort to the man mentioning how he was a doctor who treats COVID-19 patients daily. The one comment that stuck out to me the most was one of the group mockingly replying, “Good for you.” (Side-note: When did we decide to be so proud of our ignorance? Have we always been and it’s just easier to notice now, or are people just emboldened now? And why was this group so happy to celebrate their ignorance, wearing it like a badge of honor, displaying it for us to see?)

I know this sounds like the longest elevator ride ever – I’m just not a concise writer when I don’t want to be.

Eventually, after an eternity of awkwardness, the elevator beeps and the doors begin to open for floor number seven. I decide to depart with a one-line anecdote – my personal and at the time very recent experience – which was a lot for me to do, since as I noted, I’m not into the whole entire conflict thing or talking to people I have no interest in, such as this group of three. I simply say:

“I just had to go to the ER as a 29-year-old male with no preexisting conditions. Good luck if you catch it.”

Apparently I did not realize I was in America. I came to this conclusion that I did not realize I was in America, thanks to one of the gentlemen pointing it out to me, raising his voice to do so while I walked out of the elevator into the hall. If only I could thank him now for his service and his sacrifice.

The sad thing is, he was right. We do live in America, and this is what Americans (and if we’re being honest with ourselves, humans the world allover, although perhaps in other fashions) are doing and how we are acting. We’ve turned what shouldn’t be much of a debate into a crusade against reason and compassion because both inconvenience me and get in the way of me getting my way, even when it’s at your expense – if you’re reading this, you should bow down to me – because we’re unempathetic assholes. It’s not justified, nor is it rationale or logical, but none of that matters – here we are. This is where we’re at.

(Now I wish I could have thought of a comeback along the lines of the above. But sometimes it’s best to just let it go. I can’t be clever in real time, but writing is therapeutic. You can’t let the unempathetic people get to you. It will drive you mad, into being a misanthrope. I’ve thought about becoming one. A cynic, I positively am.)

I’ve come to believe wearing a mask is a litmus test.

I will leave it at that.

***

So on that note, after talking about dicks, I guess it’s time to wrap this up. Puns aside, I mean, do we really want more unempathetic people in this world? If this is how the majority of individuals are, do we really want more people in this world?

To be honest, this isn’t how the majority of individuals are… but sometimes it very much seems to be very much like that. But perception isn’t necessarily reality; appearances can be deceiving, as the phrase goes.

Expressing empathy means showing you care, showing interest, acknowledging pain, and being supportive, because you can assume the highs or lows another person is feeling. When we ignore others in their struggles or their hopes, do we express empathy?

And as I go struggling with the appearance that people just don’t care anymore (or maybe “anymore” is incorrect or unneeded), I also go hoping our humanity will unite us and our empathy will be bright before us, shining until the sun burns no more.

If we fail to do this, we won’t be around to see that final horizon.

Please note I do not set out to be self-righteous in what I write or think. I have my faults and my blinders. But I have thought about this topic in conversations in my head, and so it was time to write my craziness into word – a Microsoft Word Document, that is. My only advice is that in a piece about how we should be more empathetic, I should use the word “my” less. My only other advice is to just remember you’re not alone: there are likely many people who are going through what you’re going through now, or have gone through it or will go through it; and similarly, there are likely many people who are going through something you’ve never experienced or even contemplated – please, do not forget about them. Put yourself in their shoes, regardless of whether they fit, to know what it’s like to wear them.