I was driving to pick my children up from Forest School the other day when I turned a corner and saw a group of kids stumble out of a cemetery, down a hill, and almost into the road. They all wore hoodies and backpacks, and they were laughing and talking together, seemingly unaware that there was no sidewalk, that this was a busy highway, and that any one of them could be struck by a car at any moment. I was annoyed. I grumbled to myself as I drove past them, thinking “If those were my kids, why I’d rassumfrassum grimblesnarble…”
My feelings towards those random kids were uncharitable at best. Somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind I think a part of me would have liked to see one of them get hit. Just a little, mind you. Teach ’em a lesson. Nothing fatal. The point is, I was not in a place of emotional generosity. But then, somehow, I was the one who was hit. With an idea. Whoa. What if those were my kids?
How would I have reacted differently if I drove past those errant children and seen Edward’s and Ruby’s faces looking back at from under the backpacks? What would I have done? What if I had seen my children’s best friends there, and not some unknown quantities? I would have certainly told them to get the heck off of the side of the road, but teaching them a violent and hard lesson would not have been anywhere on my mind, dark recesses or no.
As I drove on, I decided to continue the exercise. I suddenly was feeling love for those children, because now I was imagining that they were my children. What about the car in front of me? The car in front of me was not doing anything particularly offensive, nor was it doing anything wondrous or remarkable. I had almost no feelings for the person inside of it, one way or the other. But what if someone I loved was driving in that car? What if that were my wife? What if it were my best friend? How would that change the way I was driving? Would it?
I found myself filling every passing car with friends and family. I had affection for everyone I saw. There was a flagger up ahead, and we all had to sit and wait while the construction crews moved their bulldozers around. I was going to be late. I wanted to be angry with the flagger. But that wasn’t just a flagger. That was my mom. That was my dad. That was my buddy. I had to have sympathy for him, and give him some leeway, just like I would if I did happen to know him. “Rough day out here, eh?” I thought to him. I saw him smile in my mind, happy for a familiar face. And even though he wasn’t my friend or relation, he was somebody’s. And pretending that he was mine made all the difference.
I have to tell you that this trick does not work on people that I already know. There are people who are not my friends, and there are reasons. Not that I don’t have some sort of love for them, but maybe I don’t want to smile and hang out. Maybe they have done something to me. Maybe their actions were selfish or hurtful. Maybe that one flagger stops my car every time and grins, just because he doesn’t like me. That’s fine. I can protect myself from people who are bad for me, and I can hold people accountable for their actions. But when I don’t know, when I encounter a stranger, I can start off from a place of real love. And I have to tell you, life feels so much better that way.
Now all I have to do is remember to think this way all the time. I’ll keep practicing.