II remember doing belly flops at the pool in the summer as a child. Leaping from the diving board in what I believed was a stunning act of prowess, I landed smack on the surface in an embarrassing
and painful thwack. People would turn their heads to the sound, and I would crawl out of the water dripping and red.
The article I mentioned yesterday from the Huffington Post talks about empathy. The author suggests that empathy is a risk, and that people can become frozen in a standoff, waiting for the other one to go first. Then even if one of you takes the plunge it can end up as a belly flop.
Offering empathy when you want to hand them a platter of criticism instead takes grit. One factor in my stinginess in the compassion department is the unavoidable stance that I already know everything. I know what happened, and why. I know who thought what and what they were were after. Therefore it makes sense for me to pass judgment from my throne in the sky.
Or not.
I have a good imagination. If you need forty three ideas for a project with five year olds, I'm your girl. So I have recently started to utilize that resource in the area of empathy. When there is a person who
seems to be falling short of my expectations, it's time for a flurry of made up reasons why.
Her gout is acting up and she can barely stand. It makes sense that she is grumpy. I'm surprised she didn't yell more.
Her family of origin was crippled with poverty. They ate cold porridge and bruised bananas for breakfast. There was no money for celebrations, so of course she would not reciprocate my Christmas gift.
He got a bad review at work, and is feeling uncertain. With a mortgage that would make Trump shiver, it is not surprising that he would bark at his kids in the store.
His mother was recently diagnosed with typhoid fever. His reckless driving is to get to the hospital in another
state.
If I am going to be brave enough to jump off the edge of my own self righteousness, I might as well enjoy the splash.
