The Online Photographer

I seem to be being judged from a lot of quarters these days.

When I was a second-year student at the Corcoran School of Art, the School bought a city brownstone in the Dupont Circle area of D.C. to use as a dorm. It was a city neighborhood of two-lane streets lined with leafy trees, sidewalks, and row houses. I was to share the lowest unit, that was half above and half below street level; it had a tiny low-fenced yard and its own entrance a handful of steps down. The doorway at the other end of the unit, leading into the building proper, was right next to the laundry machines, which turned out to be a luxury. I had been assigned a roommate, a freshman, who hadn't arrived yet.

I was excited to be moving. The brownstone row house had been a gracious home when it was built, and had beautiful woodwork everywhere, admittedly a little the worse for more than a century of wear and tear. My unit had gorgeous built-in bookcases along the wall. Most important things first: the night before moving day, unable to sleep, I ferried a bunch of my books over to the new place in the middle of the night, and lovingly arranged them on some of the shelving. To be honest about my motives, I probably had it in the back of my mind that I wanted to claim some bookshelf space for myself before my as-yet-unmet roommate had a chance to hog it all for himself. (I needn't have worried, by the way. He loved his infernal prog-rock turned up to 11, but I never saw him near a book. I left half the bookshelf space for him and he used it for folded clothes.)

The next day, my younger brother Scott and our mother helped me move in. We brought over my scant and rather sorry collection of possessions in one pickup-truck load. I unlocked the door. While Mom and I strategized the unloading, Scott grabbed a box and carried it inside.

When he came back out, he said, "Your new roommate sure is stuck-up."

I was puzzled. "Is he here?"

"No, but he's a literary snob. Take a look at his books when you go inside. You'll see."

He started naming titles, all of which were, um, familiar. Of course I exclaimed, "Those are MY books, you idiot!! I moved them in last night!"

Scott burst out laughing. Judged! And skewered. So it goes.

I still don't know if he knew they were mine and he was just needling me. That was probably true, come to think. Scott was wise. He knew me better than any other human on the face of the Earth ever has or ever will. I've never thought of this before this moment, but it's nice that the person who knew me best liked me so much. That's something to be grateful for. Of course it did bring him joy to give me a hard time.

Hungry angry lonely tired
Humans don't like advice, so this is merely a suggestion. I interact with a lot of people every day in one way or another, often at a bit of a remove, which possibly enables something in the way of objectivity. And it seems to me that, because of the run-up to the American election, people are worked up at the moment—agitated, unsettled, maybe angry. A little quicker to find fault, render judgement, snap back, argue. Wound up tighter than usual one way or another.

My suggestion, and that's all it is, is that we might all need to pay a little extra attention in the coming month to reacting to life and to others with patience, tolerance, kindliness, and compassion. If something "triggers" you and you flash up with that little hit-'em-back feeling in your gut, pause, say "God, help me" or some other three-word prayer silently to yourself, and count five in-and-out breaths. Then respond. I think it might be safe to assume that people aren't going to be quite their best selves right now. And that might include me, and maybe even you. I just think we're all going to be a little tense for a spell—at least here in the FUSA*, and possibly elsewhere.

Peace!

Mike

*Formerly United States of America.

P.S. Overtly political comments will be read but not published.

Original contents copyright 2024 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

Featured Comments from:

MikeR: "Heard this on a radio (remember those?) program a few days ago: 'Just like me.' When regarding a person who may be 100% opposed to you or your ideas, think, for example, that they likely went to kindergarten, just like me. Needed to find a date for the senior prom, just like me. This tends to limit 'othering' other humans."

Mike replies: Just so. It's excellent advice. I'm definitely in that habit. When someone gives offense and I rush to blame, my first thought is, "have I ever done that?" The answer is almost always yes: said something rude, cut someone off in traffic, gave someone the finger, yelled for no good reason, on goes the list. It instantly makes me a lot of more forgiving.

A few years ago a group of teenagers, boys and girls, were having an animated conversation right outside my window at midnight. Did I ever do that? Yes, when I was their age, and the last thing I wanted was some grumpy oldster who was past his precious bedtime breaking up our socializing and making the girl I was interested in go home. They're only at the lake for a week or two. And they're only young once. I turned the light on and read a book until they left on their own.

Dan Gorman: "I loved this post. The story about Scott is wonderful, and the last two paragraphs are truly beautiful.

"My wife is a fan of a guy named Dacher Keltner, a Cal Berkeley psychologist, and his book Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life. Keltner maintains that we all need frequent experiences of awe, which he believes ground us in a very healthy way, and encourage us to feel connected to—and small within—this vast, mysterious cosmos. Keltner lists several common experiences that he says tend to bring people a sense of awe (nature, music, 'sacred geometries,' and 'collective effervescence,' among others), but the first experience he describes in the book is what he calls 'moral beauty.'

"Your post is an excellent example of moral beauty (among many others you've written over the years, by the way). It may only be read by some subset of your regular readers, but it's a ripple of common sense and reason at a time when both are in short supply. May your ripple spread far and wide.

"Thank you for this."