The Middle Ground

I spend a significant portion of my work day surrounded by students. They range from 1st grade all the way to Seniors in high school. Recently I was visiting an Elementary school to help out with the lunch/recess hour. I walked by a class of 2nd graders outside as they sat on their little mats eating their little lunches. Every once in a while a tiny arm would shoot up towards the sky and I would make my way towards it. Usually it was a kid wanting water or help opening up a tightly wrapped snack in their lunch box but on this occasion I found myself approaching a little boy with a very troubled look on his face. 

Once he realized that he had my undivided attention he told me what the problem was. According to him, the other little boy directly to his right kept telling people that the boy who had called me over didn’t like cookies. That's right, someone was spreading a nasty rumor about him. However, upon further investigation I learned that the only person to hear this rumor was the person the rumor was about. In other words, boy number two was talking direct shit to boy number one. 

I asked the boy who had called me over if he indeed did like cookies. He said, “Yes, I love cookies.” I asked if he was sure and he enthusiastically repeated himself. I then turned to the other boy and asked him to tell me what he had just heard the other kid say. He told me that he heard the boy say that he loved cookies but that he didn’t believe him. At this statement the other boy got very frustrated again and flopped to his side in agony. “But I do like cookies, I love them!” he said. I took a knee on the asphalt and told this boy that I believed him and he perked up a little bit and said “really?”. “Yes really,” I replied. 

I then turned to the other boy and asked him why he cared if this kid liked cookies or not. He paused for a moment and just shrugged his shoulders. I accepted his nonverbal answer and then turned back to the boy who started this whole thing and asked him a very simple question. I said, “If you know that you love cookies, then what does it matter what anybody else thinks?”

Even though this kid was just a second grader I could see his brain light up. He was considering my question and just when it seemed like he was going to answer, the girl to his left, who had been listening silently the entire time, chimed in. She confidently and matter of factly said, “you both like pizza!” At this the two boys looked at each other, started to giggle and rolled around on their mats with the kind of joy only children and mythical creatures of the forest can muster. The girl had a triumphant look on her face as she joined in the laughter. I backed away from the scene picking up a discarded milk carton on my way out. 

I used to have an Airedale

When I walked my dog through the local parks of my city we would inevitably come across an elderly person with a gleam in their eyes staring deeply at her. They would start to angle towards us, never looking away from her. The phrase like a moth to a flame comes to mind but instead of a flame they got 100 pounds of joy.

Most people would ask if they could pet my dog before doing so. I would always say “sure” and then watch them time travel right before my eyes. They would smile and rub her gently for a few beats. Then, like clockwork, they would say something like “I grew up with Airedales” or “My neighbor had an Airedale when I was a kid” or “I used to have an Airedale” and this was the statement that always made my heart drop.

The words “used to” would just wound me, but I would listen to their micro-story and then we would part ways. They would usually get in one last scratch of the ear or rub of the tummy before leaving and Bernie would walk away with pride on her face like she knew she had just made someone's day.

I had originally planned to get a puppy but ended up with a fully formed adult. I thought I was rescuing a well trained, protective, svelte Terrier and instead I got...Bernie. She was 150 pounds of long, brittle nails and severely matted hair. I have no idea how long her previous owners had been neglecting her but I agreed to rehome her, sight unseen.

I sometimes wonder if I would have gone through with it had I been able to see her beforehand? I don’t know the answer to that question but what I do know is that Bernie was my first and only dog and now that she’s gone her absence is being felt in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

Bernie only peed in my house three times during our four years together. The first night she came to live with me; two years after that when she had severe food poisoning; and once during the last three months of her life after she had a major surgery on her knee and struggled to walk for a while. She was never what I would call a healthy animal.

Those years before she came into my house had done a number on her body. She was overweight, had skin issues and a bad case of arthritis due to carrying all that weight on her tall frame. We came to a silent agreement right away.  I would love her unconditionally and introduce her to a healthier lifestyle and she would do pretty much whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. I loved her right away. She was my dog.

Bernie died because she had an aggressive, untreatable cancerous tumor that was taking over her leg. I know there are a lot of three legged dogs running around but that’s not always an option and sadly, it wasn’t an option for my dog. It happened so fast that I barely had time to take it all in. I would have done anything for her and my vet knew it so he clearly and compassionately told me that it was time to make “arrangements”.

A week later, my dear sweet Bernie left the world from her dog bed on my living room floor. She died on a Sunday at 9:45 in the morning. The weather was October warm and my front door was wide open. I held her body tight and whispered a lifetime full of loving messages into that left floppy ear of hers to help her on the journey ahead. She was gone within seconds. Fast and peaceful. It was what I would call a good death for a good dog.

I am sadder than I thought possible. I cry without warning and I miss everything about her. It’s hard to describe so I won’t even try. It is simply one of those things that has to be experienced. All I can really say is that it hurts...a lot.

There are two kinds of people offering me comfort. Those who have lost dogs and those who have not. Both groups keep telling me that I gave Bernie a better life than the one she had previously and that she was healthier and happier with me. 

I don’t disagree with this statement but I would add that Bernie truly made my life better too. She made me better. She slowed me down, literally. Walking her was a process because she needed to stop and smell everything; every flower, every plant, every patch of grass, every tree and every hole in the ground. I got to know my neighborhood because of her. We walked everywhere and I learned to be in the moment more often because she savored every inch of her environment.

If I saved Bernie then she also saved me. She was a true friend and I will miss that cold, wet nose on warm, summer nights. I will miss unexpected snuggles and licks to the back of my calves. I will miss her old bones settling in for that night's slumber. I will miss that stubborn, old girl.

Perhaps one day, when I am older and find myself walking through a park I will come across an Airedale Terrier. I will gingerly make my way towards the animal as if we are old friends. I won’t ask to pet the dog, I'll just do it. I will rub its side and scratch those ears. I will stiffen slightly as the memories of Bernie flood my mind, preparing to transport me back in time, but before I go, I’ll look at their owner and say “I used to have an Airedale”.

Listening

When I was in graduate school for Conflict Resolution I opted to take a class that focused on listening. It was one of those weekend classes that fulfilled one of my requirements for the degree. My program promises that it’s students will develop perspectives and gain skills to defuse and deescalate destructive conflicts that arise among individuals, groups and countries.

So how hard could a class centered around listening actually be? Well this class wasn’t as simple and straightforward as I had expected. It wasn’t hard but it sure wasn’t easy. The class ended up changing the way I took in information from other people and as a result the class changed my life profoundly. The concepts that I learned seem so simple now but in my mid-twenties they were new and fresh ideas. Something like “listen to learn not to respond” blew my mind.

The ways that our brains process bits of information depend on so many different variables. The difference between listening to someone we know and a total stranger, what our mood is when we are listening to the information being given, how the person talking to us identifies, all of these pieces affect our ability to listen and then to actually hear/process what’s being given to us.

I found myself trying harder to be as present as I could be during conversations with friends and strangers. I tried to quiet the voice inside of my head that just wanted to give answers or talk about myself in a response. I started to pay more attention to the whole person as they shared with me. I picked up on physical cues that let me know their comfort level, I didn’t try to fill moments of silence with my own voice and most importantly I started listening to learn instead of listening to respond.

Sometimes people just want to be heard and they don’t actually want or need your opinion. Sometimes people just want to feel the connection of being humans together, of sharing a story about an experience or a unique perspective with an individual or a group. Keeping our egos in check allows us to listen on a deeper level to the people around us. When people feel heard they tend to lower their walls, even if it’s just a bit, and when walls get lowered our worldviews can be expanded.

An Error of Fundamental Attribution

I take early morning walks with my dog Bernie so that she can do her business. These walks have also become a time when I can clear my head and prepare myself for the day that’s to come. There aren’t many people out and about during this time in my neighborhood so it’s quite a peaceful journey for me. Every once in a while I notice that someone hasn’t cleaned up after their dog and my Zen is quickly shattered by negative thoughts and feelings about the monstrous, bad dog owners freely walking the streets. I have fantasies about what I would do should I ever come upon one of these villains as they try to flee the scene of the crime.

 
I would yell “STOP!” Window curtains would fly open and the entire street would witness the shameful act of this individual as I judgmentally handed them one of my “biodegradable” poop bags to take care of the mess that their dog left. I don’t like this judgmental side of me but I’m trying to be honest here. When I see dog poop on the ground or worse yet when I almost step in that dog poop, for a tiny moment in time I become someone I don’t particularly care for. I become someone who never would have started a storytelling show that’s all about bringing people together and creating community by listening to each other and sharing intimate moments with strangers. 

Recently I found out that my beautiful dog has a very aggressive form of cancer and although not currently painful, it will result in me having to put her to sleep well before I ever thought I’d need to. Even as I type this I can feel the bite in the back of my throat as my eyes become heavy with the promise of tears. I never thought I would have a dog so when I had the opportunity to invite Bernie into my house four years ago it was the beginning of a wonderful adventure. Bernie is a 100 pound Airedale Terrier who I have grown to love and will miss deeply when she is no longer with me.

These morning walks with my dog are even more important to me now. Her leg has to be wrapped with tape and gauze now so getting out of the door is a little more stressful than it used to be and I am not as organized as I once was. The other day we were walking around the neighborhood when she paused in a way that let me know business was about to be done. As she settled into that familiar posture I realized that I had completely forgotten a poop bag. My heart skipped a beat and I quickly looked around in shame as Bernie continued to follow the call of nature. There was no one around and I was far from my house. There was nothing left for me to do but continue on with my walk. I had become the villain in my own story!

Bernie had once again helped me learn another valuable life lesson. It’s one I already knew but needed a reminder of. I don’t know what these people were experiencing or going through when I saw their dogs poop during my walks. I come up with my own negative story to fill in the blanks but that’s my choice. Most people go about their days doing the very best that they can. Most people are very good dog owners and care about the neighborhoods that they live in. Sometimes people have bad days and sometimes people forget to bring poop bags when they are walking their dogs. Sometimes, shit-just-happens!

‘Make less strangers’...here’s what I mean

I firmly believe that if WE (humans) are going to survive and thrive then WE (all of us) need to get to know each other on deeper levels than “What do you do?” “Where are you from?” “What’s your favorite color?” I’m interested in the WHY of it all. I want to know what IT felt like when THAT thing happened. 

I want you to tell me a story. I want you to WANT to tell me a story so that we can connect. Stories are an act of courage and can be an act of liberation. When we take the time to get to know each other’s stories, we are taking the time to understand WHO someone really is. We grow closer to understanding all of the things we have in common with each other in addition to the things that make us different.

I don’t care who you are or where you are, we can always find some things that we have in common. There’s always going to be a similar experience, we just need the time and space to find the commonalities. We just need to listen to what another person thinks and then to have curiosity about WHERE that belief comes from. Hard to do in today’s world but still completely possible if we are intentional. 

That’s right, Front Porch Sessions is intentional. Meaning: I did it on purpose! You will leave a Front Porch Sessions event having learned something...either about yourself or about someone you’ve never met before and that will always be worth the price of admission. Listening to stories helps us to bridge our differences.

When I have a better understanding about your experiences we enter into a social contract with one another, recognizing the complexity and intricacy of our experiences, making it easier to hear what each other is saying.

AND for those of you wondering why we say Make Less Strangers in the World instead of Make Fewer Strangers in the world the answer is simple. I’m a rebel. I like the way less sounds and I simply don’t care about the rules of grammar all of the time. Also let’s be honest, doesn’t the word less roll off the tongue so much better than the word fewer?

Anyways, I am sending you an open invitation to join me in making less strangers in the world and just maybe by doing that we can help to make it a better place to live in.