Compassion Matters
Paul, Chocolate, and the Grinch
Good morning, friends and colleagues. May your Rice Krispies snap, crackle, and pop.
Today marks the start of our series “Compassion Matters.” For those of you who have journeyed through the lymphoma experience with me, this series should feel familiar. My goal with the series is to show that compassion matters and that, if you look for it, you will find acts of compassion everywhere. One of my primary motivations is that, as I read others’ posts, the negativity strikes me. That doesn’t mean I disagree with these other authors; I just don’t think the world needs another negative post.
My hope is that these posts bring you joy and hope. I sincerely believe that the vast majority of people are good. I also believe that we are all born with an inner spark that makes us unique and capable of compassion.
Though I am writing these under the guise of my role with the Physicians Career Solutions Institute, this series will be non-denominational (i.e., I hope they are relevant to everyone who wants to believe, not just physicians). I will vary the topic based on what I find meaningful that day. Our discussions will range from compassionate historic figures to current acts of compassion to philosophical ramblings. The approach will likely feel anarchic at times. If you have suggestions for a topic, I’d be grateful for your input.
Finally, writing these posts brings me joy, so thank you for reading them.
This morning, I came across Paul’s story, and I thought it was worth sharing.
Paul had been suffering from debilitating back pain after a workplace injury. Agony consumed him; his words. Paul had tried everything, including physiotherapy, herbal compresses, and massage. Nothing relieved him of his agony.
On the day of our story, Paul went to a clinic for a ‘Hail Mary’ treatment: anesthetic injections directly into his lower back. The treatment seemed to make things worse, if anything. And he stumbled out of the clinic in tears, physically unstable and emotionally shattered. Paul wasn’t even sure he could make it home.
As he continued to stumble home, he spotted a chocolate shop. He knew that he needed to calm down, so he entered the shop hoping that chocolate might take the edge off his emotional distress (sounds reasonable to me). As he approached the front counter, he could feel eyes averting from the grown man sobbing.
The cashier did the opposite. He looked Paul directly in the eye and asked, simply, “What’s wrong?” Paul explained the best he could.
The cashier found Paul a seat and personally prepared him a ‘beautiful’ hot chocolate, meticulously served on a plate with accompanying chocolates.
When Paul finally composed himself and tried to pay, the cashier refused. The cashier told Paul, “No, it’s on me. I’ve had back pain before, and I know what it’s like.”
God bless him. Our kind cashier transformed a routine service into a care-taking ritual. He didn’t have to - but he did. The difference he made in Paul’s life is remarkable, and I’d like to think that Paul pays it forward.
I marvel at the cashier’s wisdom. He didn’t try to fix Paul’s back. He simply provided validation (“I know what it’s like”). He removed Paul’s sense of isolation by acknowledging their common experience.
I also appreciate the cashier’s wisdom, demonstrated through his generosity. The cost to the cashier and the store was a few dollars and a few minutes. In contrast, the greater human ‘yield’ will be a memory that will stay with Paul (and me) for decades. Our pursuit of compassion doesn’t need to be a grand gesture, just a recognition of our shared humanity.
Of course, the beauty of this whole situation is that I believe the cashier benefited from his actions as well. This belief stems from one of the Buddhist philosophical concepts that makes sense to me. The basic concept is that much of our suffering comes from the perceived wall we create between “me” and “them”. This separation creates a constant need to attack, defend, compare, and compete. Exacerbating this is the scarcity mindset that we develop. The persistent feeling that we do not have enough time, energy, or resources to be happy. The result is mental and emotional contraction.
Yet, when you are truly generous, multiple things happen to reverse this contraction. The first thing is to soften that sense of separation by prioritizing someone else’s needs to be at least as important as your own. You move towards a sense of interconnectedness, and it is far less stressful to exist in a world where you feel connected to others than in one where you feel isolated and guarded.
The second thing is to prove to your subconscious that you actually have abundance, rather than suffering from scarcity. You potentially shift your identity from ‘the victim who lacks’ to ‘the benefactor who provides.’ The consequence is emotional expansion, moving you from protecting only yourself to connecting with others.
Don’t believe me? Fair enough. However, Dr. Seuss buys into all of this. The Grinch Who Stole Christmas can serve as a Buddhist parable.
At the beginning, the Grinch lives in a cold, desolate place (Mt. Crumpit), isolated from the community and characterized by a heart that is two sizes too small.
In his act of generosity - selflessly saving the sleigh of gifts - his heart grows three sizes. His heart expands.
So there you are.
So do you. You are loved, I promise.
Thank you for reading this issue of Compassion Matters. I’ll post another in the next day or so based on the ride, I hope. Until then, please remember that compassion is made possible by you. Please don’t give up hope for either yourself or the world.