Category Archives: empathy

Mixed Emotions

Posted on September 9, 2021 by | 4 comments
Zaila Avant-garde holding national spelling bee trophy with confetti coming down

I wasn’t surprised by my mixed emotions, several weeks ago, when headline after headline and several television stations were hailing the accomplishments of Zaila Avant-garde, the first African American champion of the 2021 Scripps National Spelling Bee. My feelings were complicated to say the least:

  • Elation for Zaila and her family and what this means for her future.
  • Collective pride, along with other Black Americans, that her hard work was rewarded.
  • Shame that the screaming headlines that highlighted the fact that Zaila is Black may cause some to draw the illogical conclusion that what Zaila did was extraordinary because Black Americans don’t usually have the intellectual capacity for such a feat.
  • Resentment that the United States is still recognizing “the first” among Black Americans.
  • Anger because “until the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, Black children were routinely banned from participating in spelling bees. All winners were White until Puerto Rican Hugh Tosteson Garcia was named champion in 1975.” (Shalini Shankar, “Zaila Avant-garde’s Spelling Bee win sends exuberant message,” Opinion, CNN online, July 9, 2021)
  • Disheartened that “Indian American winners who have steadily won since 1998 have endured a litany of racism on broadcast and social media for not being ‘American’—code for not being White. Seen by many as outsiders, and as part of communities subjected to waves of anti-Asian violence, they are left to make sense of negative reactions to their success in the form of calls for ‘real Americans’ to regain control of this contest.” (Shankar, “Zaila Avant-garde’s Spelling Bee”)

Despite my mixed emotions, I’m glad that Zaila received so much attention because her success will alert other families and their children that they, too, can have the kind of success that Zaila, the scholar-athlete, has achieved.

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Posted in empathy, Identity, Race & Ethnicity, reflection, respect, Students

Clothes: Uplift and Downer

Posted on July 8, 2021 by | Leave a comment

Luevinia, Altoria, and Vidella were my best friends in the sixth grade at Melrose School in Memphis.

The scene was on the playground at recess after lunch. I won’t go into the pretend marriage between a boy I liked and myself, but it was on this occasion that my three friends—who were getting me ready for the pretend wedding—decided that the clothes that I was wearing were just “too ugly” for the “wedding.”

Vidella decided to lend me her pink sweater to cover up what I was wearing. I had never had such a soft lovely piece of clothing that I could remember. I felt beautiful in the sweater. The photo that resulted showed me posing as if I were a movie star, with head thrown back to highlight the grin on my face and one hand behind my head for good measure.

Another photo that reminds me of how clothes can be an uplift or a downer was taken when I was fourteen. Although I had moved to live with my mother in Chicago two years earlier, my brother had stayed with my dad. So, on the occasion of my brother’s seventh birthday, my mother and I traveled back to Memphis. 

The birthday party was something of a reunion, in that the kids I had played with when I lived in that neighborhood were there. My living in Chicago would have been something to increase my status among the kids if it had not been for what I was wearing.

Cute shorts and tops with sandals were the expected standard for the girls. Why, then, was I wearing my one-piece green gym suit from school with the elastic waist and elastic mid-thigh? I had no cute shorts and tops. The gym suit was my only option to keep cool in the heat of August in Memphis. Needless to say, I tried to stay out of sight as much as possible.

During the time when I was applying to colleges, my mother was losing jobs. She told me that there was no money to pay for my senior pictures. Understanding the situation, I told her that I would take the pictures and, if there was money when it was time to pay for the pictures, we would buy them.

The instructions for the photos was that the girls were to wear a black sweater and white pearls. My only sweater was a drab, olive-green, nubby-like sweater that looked as if it needed a clothes shaver. It was totally wrong for the picture. I didn’t have pearls either. My mother had some gold-painted beads that I paired with the ugly sweater.

When it was time to buy the pictures, my mother had the needed money. It was later that I found out that she had pawned the treasured wedding rings that my stepfather had given her in order to have the money for my senior pictures. With new eyes, I not only felt bad that she had pawned the rings; I felt even worse than bad because I had complained about not having a black sweater and white pearls.

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Posted in empathy, Identity, reflection

Clothing, Confidence, and ‘ccomplishment

Posted on July 1, 2021 by | 2 comments

Clothes don’t make the person.
It’s not what you wear it’s who you are.

My mother’s parents probably used similar words and sentiments when she asked for new clothes.

My mother and a boy named Wesley Lee were the only students in the school that the teachers thought were ready to take the exams required to graduate from the eighth grade. The exams were given at the Sunflower County Seat in Mississippi (M-i-crooked letter-crooked letter-i-crooked letter-crooked letter-i-humpback-humpback-i) rather than at the school.

This trip was a very special occasion and a testament to the accomplishments of these students.   My mother’s Aunt Alma (by way of marriage to my mother’s daddy’s brother) promised to get her the white dress and shoes that girl graduates were required to wear. Instead of buying new clothes and shoes, Aunt Alma gave my mother one of her old white dresses that she often wore to church and a pair of her white, old-lady, blocky-heeled shoes. The shoes were so much larger than my mother’s feet that she had to wear them with socks instead of nylons.

My mother was so embarrassed about how she looked in Aunt Alma’s clothes that, for the first time that she could remember, she was nervous and scared. Thinking about how awful she looked caused her baking soda deodorant to stop working. She could smell her sweaty underarms and was sure everyone else could too. Although she passed the exams, the memory of the shame about how she looked and felt in those clothes lasted.

Words and sentiments thought to teach and appease get passed down through generations when parents can’t afford or won’t buy their children the clothes they need and want.

I was living with my dad; my mother was living in Chicago. When my dad didn’t buy me clothes, I would write to my mother to ask her to buy me what I wanted or needed.

When all the other kids in fourth and fifth grades were wearing penny loafers, I was still wearing the scuffed white and black Oxford shoes that had been popular in previous years. The really cool kids put a nickel or dime in the slot where the penny was supposed to go. I really wanted penny loafers! I even sent my mother a picture of the shoes in case she didn’t know what they were. I never did wear penny loafers. I didn’t feel that I belonged.

When it was time for school pictures, I wrote my mother to ask her to please send me a new coat. I told her that when I took school pictures the year before, the sleeves on my coat were too short and kids laughed at how I looked. My sleeves were even shorter in the next pictures since I was wearing the same coat. I was ashamed and felt ugly.

Clothes may or may not make the person. Clothes may or may not cause others to prejudge based on what one is wearing. Clothes may or may not have an effect on one’s behavior and level of confidence. However, from my personal experience, how I think about myself in particular clothes impacts my feelings of self-confidence and ultimately how I perform the task at hand. 

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Posted in empathy, Identity, reflection, respect

Doing the Best We Can

Posted on May 20, 2021 by | 4 comments

It’s Tuesday, December 16, and I’m not in a good mood because I had only five hours of sleep last night, missed my exercise, no time for any kind of breakfast, and my schedule is packed with back-to-back meetings and appointments.

 Driving to work on a familiar road as if on autopilot, my mind takes over and makes me anxious about all that I have to do before the holiday break:

  • Faculty evaluations have to be completed!
  • Search Committee for the Dean’s position has to wrap up!
  • Deadline for my follow-up response to the Middle States Report!
  • Reviews of journal articles due!  

After I arrive at the office, encounters with colleagues throughout the day put my previous worrisome thoughts into perspective. As I speak with colleagues, I feel as if I’m opening a series of doors, and behind each door there is a human being coping as best they can with every ounce of strength they have. These realities make my worries seem small and self-absorbed.

  • Door number one: Not getting along with spouse, fear that the holidays may be the time when things come to a head regarding their union.
  • Door number two: Seeing psychologist after loss of a beloved dog.
  • Door number three: Finding it too difficult to work and continue with doctoral program; will have to discontinue program.
  • Door number four: Hates the holidays; depression is an issue.
  • Door number five: Husband had an accident and may lose an eye.
  • Door number six: Husband shot in the hand, victim of a robbery.
  • Door number seven: Favorite cousin died; will be hard on the family during the holidays.
  • Door number eight: Sister will have cancer surgery after the holidays.

As I listen to each person, I become increasingly aware of our connection and the flow of feelings between us as I physically sense my colleagues’ deep distress. I feel as if we are joined together in these moments by a salve of empathy and a balm of solace.

On my drive home, I reflect on what I heard from colleagues during the day. 

Realizing the emotional burdens that each is carrying makes me wonder how they could have the spiritual strength to show up and keep moving forward.

And then I know how they—and all of us—keep moving forward:

Because we cannot allow random tricks of chance to crush our spirit.

Because sometimes our only option is to live through it.

Because, with faith, we can find the determination and resilience we need.

Because we all have to play the hand we’ve been dealt.

Because we’re all doing the best that we can with what we have.

86

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Posted in empathy, reflection

Oprah Winfrey: She is Woman

Posted on March 18, 2021 by | 2 comments
Oprah Winfrey. Photo: Vera Anderson/Wireimage
Oprah Winfrey

In celebration of Women’s History Month for 2021, I raise up Oprah Winfrey as a true icon. Given the overuse of the words “icon” and “iconic” in describing people, when I use the term, it is to describe someone who crosses cultural boundaries and performs as if they have special powers, such as “a god, a hero, or an idol,” as the word “icon” is defined. 

Bridging the 20th and 21st centuries, Oprah has made an indelible mark in the entertainment industry. She has penetrated the psyche of people all over the world by persuading us to focus on what she thinks is interesting at a particular point in time. Her interests become our obsessions. Some will say that Internet stars and the Kardashians do the same thing, but none of these influencers can hold a candle to Oprah because she came from so far behind and her reach extends far beyond entertainment and commercial endeavors.

Coming from an impoverished childhood in an obscure town in Mississippi, enduring hardships no child should experience, and competing for a place in an industry that is both racist and sexist, Oprah Winfrey is the iconic self-made woman of our time. And what’s more, having reached the pinnacle of success, she sustains her prowess.

Sure, she works hard, is dedicated to her craft, takes risks, practices gratitude, and is one of the world’s most generous philanthropists. Others have approached life in this manner, as well, so what makes Oprah different? In regard to her success as a talk show host, it’s said that, “She makes people care because she cares. That is Winfrey’s genius, and will be her legacy, as the changes she has wrought in the talk show continue to permeate our culture and shape our lives” (“Oprah Winfrey: The TV Host,” TIME Magazine, June 8, 1998).

Oprah’s empathy and penetrating questions may be the secret sauce that makes her the world’s most admired talk show host, but she is so much more than a TV host.

We have witnessed how she has endured intense scrutiny and criticism. Sometimes it has seemed that the world is waiting for her to fail. And still she rises.

To achieve the kind of fame and fortune that Oprah has garnered is nothing less than miraculous. Her success against all odds makes one ponder life’s mysteries.

But when all is said and done, Oprah is the iconic woman of the 20th and 21st centuries whose life and legacy reveals the possibilities for all of us, especially women and girls.

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Posted in empathy, women

Journaling: The Cure for Selective Memory?

Posted on February 4, 2021 by | 1 comment

Why is it easier to remember the hurt someone caused you than it is to remember something that they did that was generous and kind? Why is it easier to remember the good things you did for others than it is to remember the hurt you might have caused them?

There are some people I have encountered during my lifetime that bring negative feelings along with any memories I have of them. These people are prominent in my memories when I recall the times that I smiled or showed no emotion while gritting my teeth at the same time. It was at these times that I experienced shame and pride all balled up together in my chest. Shame because I didn’t respond in kind, and proud that I remained poised and focused on my purpose.

I recall the tears I shed in private as a result of the cruelty shown by these individuals. Yet, I don’t want to hold grudges. I never want to be the person who says, “I can forgive, but I can’t forget.” I truly want to forgive and forget the ugly situations and intense encounters. I never want to think of them again. Since I’m not able to completely avoid the memories of these people, perhaps I could have at least one good memory that might decrease the intensity of the lingering negative emotions.

What I’m discovering as I read journals I’ve kept over the years is that there is more to the stories of those I only recall in the dark places in my mind and heart. Although these people may be the topic of my journal writing mostly because of the negative things they did, every now and then I have found a lovely flower of kindness that they planted among the weeds that they cultivated in my garden.

The villains in my story were not awful all the time. Similarly, as I read these many journals, I learn that, contrary to what I want to believe about myself, I have sown some weeds in other people’s gardens, as well.

People ask me why I have written and kept journals. In the past, I believed that I wrote them to stand in for a best friend who could be trusted with my innermost feelings and my deepest desires. Today, I think I kept the journals for this time in my life when I can review them and relive all the good times and recall all the kindness that I’ve received from my encounters with both my villains and my heroes. 

I highly recommend keeping a journal during some period of one’s life.  

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Posted in empathy, reflection

My Magnificent Seven

Posted on December 24, 2020 by | Leave a comment

‘Tis the season to be grateful, and this theme is coloring my every thought. A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about the benefit I get from writing thank you notes and letters. Now I’m thinking about people for whom I have no words to adequately express how grateful I am that they held me close and gave me what I needed when I needed it following the passing of my husband, Charles, in 2019.

First, I’m so very grateful for my family who held me close as we squeezed one another tightly in an effort to shield one another from the pain of our loss. Words can’t express how much I appreciate them for all they do to make it all tolerable.

Next, I’m so very grateful for all the friends and colleagues who let me know in one way or another that they had me in their thoughts, especially around special occasions such as birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays.

Neighbors Stan, Gail, and Tosh stood at the ready for the mundane and not-so-mundane needs. They epitomize what a good neighbor is like.

Without Carly, a gifted high school student, I would never have gotten the messages about Charles’ passing out to friends and family.

I gave my friend, Jackie Woods, who we lost this past July, the moniker, “my wiki,” because she helped me find my way from here to there in a new location. I didn’t have to experience everything for myself; she showed me what to look for, and what to avoid, and where to find anything that I might ever need.

I’m so grateful for Kevin Kruger, Stephanie Gordon, Olivia Jones, and Zafer Bebek, who shared their love by using their relative youth and strength to do some of the hard stuff of putting a huge dent in clearing a house and garage of many years of accumulations.

Then there are the “Magnificent Seven,” to whom I’m forever ransomed because of the lifeline they gently pushed out to me. In alpha order, these are the modern-day saints who exemplified what I can only aspire to be to a friend in need. 

Paulette Dalpes had no time—just hours to spare—and yet, she flew across the country to be with me  and to help me to jumpstart what I needed to do to begin my move from East to West. There were many errands to run, and I was not in a good place to drive. She chauffeured me hither and yon, never losing her upbeat attitude as I was no help in finding my way. Critically, she helped me take the first step by taking me to Home Depot—a place quite foreign to me—to get tape, boxes, and other packing materials. I thought I could work alongside her to make boxes until the tape gun that I was using took over and wrapped me up so I couldn’t move. She disentangled me and showed me what I could do instead of making boxes. Because of her, my personal journals were not abandoned to the trash heap like so many other papers and notebooks. She took great care in packing and labelling them so they would not be lost among all the moving boxes. It was during this period of loss that I stopped keeping my journals. Instead of writing my journals before going to bed, I talked on the phone with Paulette.

For Lin Eagan, no task was too large or too small, and no time was inconvenient when I needed her to help me prepare the house for sale. She left her house guests on a Sunday to take stock of what I saw as an emergency. Before the final inspections for the house, she insisted that I move West, as planned, and she would take responsibility for anything that needed to be done following the inspection. From touch-up paint to major issues, she took care of it all without any inclination that my house and I were a royal pain.

Shannon Ellis kept in contact with me throughout, and let me know that I could call on her any time and she would drop everything and fly across country to help me. Just knowing this gave me the strength to keep moving forward. When I needed help with business concerns that had always been taken care of by Charles, she gamely volunteered her husband to be my adviser. The gesture reminded me of how I used to volunteer Charles to do things for friends and acquaintances. She is a strong woman who assured me that I was strong, too, and would do what I needed to do to keep moving forward.

Deb Long was always at the ready to lend a hand, whether in the kitchen or at my desk. I would never have exercised so consistently if she had not been waiting for me to go to Zumba or take a long walk in the mornings. Her immediate and constant companionship were invaluable. She even shopped in her own closet for me when an emergency appearance caught me out-of-season as I waited for the movers to bring my clothes from the East Coast. At least once a week, I had a healthy meal because she would just show up at my door with food.

Jacki Moffi and her husband stood in line for hours at Verizon to return equipment for me, only to be told that the equipment wasn’t theirs and that Verizon had never heard of me. Suffice it to say that I no longer patronize that carrier. In the final moments of my life in Maryland, Jacki was the magic lady. After the movers, after the folks to whom I’d given many items, after trash handlers had gone, I discovered—on the last day before my flight West—that there were many items that had been overlooked or missed in the packing. These were not things that I could trash, such as a sentimental set of china, and yet I couldn’t leave them in the house. I called Jacki on a Sunday morning. I don’t know what I said, but she said, “Don’t worry, I’m on my way.” By the end of the day, like magic, problem solved.  

If it were not for Caryn Musil, I would have no books from the extensive library that Charles and I had stocked over the years. There would be not one file from the five file cabinets of folders that I had painstakingly made following my retirement. She worked tirelessly packing these things. Because we were partners on a consulting job during this transition time for me, she was the listener over breakfast and dinner as I coped with my loss. All of these women and my family were wonderful supporters and listeners, but Caryn was with me on the train, at our hotel, at every meal for days at a time. Because she and her husband have been married the same amount of time as Charles and me, she had a deep understanding of what I might be experiencing. Despite my stiff upper lip, my faith, and my façade of being all right, this poem that she wrote for me broke my heart:

The Fullness of Absence

Losing a husband who has been part of one’s life for nearly six decades
Is like trying to see with one eye,
Clap with one hand,
Hug with one arm.

You are not, but you feel as if you walk with a limp.

You begin to talk aloud to yourself expecting him to chime in,
Pose a question anticipating he will answer,
Need a flight scheduled but your AA is on vacation, and you
Long to be able to bicker about a small irritant that always caused sparks.

You smile as if in a mirror that has no reflection, 
You move ever so slightly to the side of the bed where you used to find added warmth.
His soap remains in its appointed place in the shower, a revered totem to mark a loss.

His. Presence is everywhere, all the time, because of his absence.
The emptiness is felt because fullness was experienced,
Indulgently, lavishly, with abandon, decade after decade.

Your heart hurts in its brokenness, but it defiantly continues to pump.
Oxygen courses through your blood vessels reminding you he once made your heart race.
The pulsing rhythm calls you to move on, live on, because of the fullness 
His absence commemorates.

Jane Spalding carried out her role as a friend as if it were a job for which she was being paid. She had a long drive to my house and, despite the rush-hour traffic, she always arrived by 8:00 every morning during the week we pushed to clear the house. She was there until evening, sorting, packing, telling me what to do next, and being my advocate with the contractors, the movers, and anyone else with whom I had to deal with. She was like the Secret Service protecting me from any source of danger. When I had to be away for appointments, she stayed at the house continuing to work and to respond to anything that might arise. She had good resources and always knew how to make a way out of no way. She epitomized the Guardian Angel that we all wish we had at one time or another.

These cryptic notes convey just a few of the gifts that these women who make up my “Magnificent Seven” gave me when I didn’t know what I needed until they gave it to me.

I’m filled with gratitude for all those who have filled my life with their generosity of spirit.

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Posted in empathy, women

Gratitude

Posted on December 10, 2020 by | Leave a comment

“You would have more time to get other things done if you didn’t write so many thank you notes and letters,” said Joan, my wise administrative assistant in the 1980s.

While reviewing notebooks and journals I’ve kept over the years, I am amazed at the number of times I noted that I was writing a thank you to someone for something or other. For example, shortly after my retirement as NASPA executive director in 2012, I took a trip as part of the association’s exploration of offering professional development to those who provided student services in some of the universities in China.

I was in Shanghai at the Renaissance Hotel after having travelled to several other cities in China when I reviewed my meeting notes and made a list of the people with whom I had met during this visit. My list included 27 names and pertinent information to help me recall who the people were and the occasion of our coming together. These were the people to whom I would be sending thank you letters upon my return to the United States.

When I wrote the letters, the ones that made me smile the most were the ones I wrote to “unofficial” people, such as the exuberant young women students who met me at some station or harbor in pouring rain carrying a bouquet of flowers that were the worse for wear after being drenched by the rain.

As I look back on what was a time-consuming and, to me, necessary chore of writing so many notes of gratitude over the course of my life, I realize that I likely benefitted more from writing these missives of appreciation than the recipients who might have given my message a cursory review at best.

In order to write the message, I had to recall the location, the interaction, and the result of the meeting. I could relive the pleasantness of the moments. Often, there are so many distractions and emotions present during encounters—whether with people we’ve just met, day-to-day colleagues, or long-time friends and family—that keep us from appreciating what is happening in real time. Recalling the experience in quiet contemplation, we can tease out the wonder of the gift of having made this unique human contact. I’m grateful for these memories and writing to express my gratitude on so many occasions has been well worth the “costs” in time and effort.

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Posted in empathy, integrity, Leadership, reflection, respect, travel