“Oh, it hurts.”
At first read you might imagine the woman – a stranger in all senses – grasping her chest (or arm or foot), wincing at the embarrassment of Pain in Public.
On second read you might imagine the woman saying it in dismay, as if she were the cause of the pain.
On third read you might imagine it as a question.
You might even imagine her saying it with a Gollum-esque inflection, making me the “it” and the hurt a surprise. (Which gives me a perverse giggle every time I picture it. Oh, it hurtsssss itself doessss it? The world needs more Tolkein, always.)
But no matter how many times you read it, sounding out the the three words in your head, you would be wrong because words simply do not do justice to her voice. Punctuation and black-and-white and spellcheck only take away from the startling sentence, erupting like a flock of birds taking wing. But only to the next wire. Not really gone.
I wish you could hear her, her voice filled with a poignant blunt-tipped empathy, as she looked into my eyes and said simply, “Oh, it hurts!” And then she reached out and ever-so-gently laid her hand on my cheek. She smiled – a small smile that acknowledged my hurt and her hurt and past hurts and future yet-to-be-hurts. This last thought made me remember Jelly Bean who was standing at my leg watchfully, waiting to see what I did with this ever stranger woman’s hand on my cheek and words in my ears and pain in my heart.
“It does,” I answered her, with more kindness than I’ve been able to muster for anyone for weeks.
It does.
She asked no questions nor offered any advice but after a smile-lit pause that managed to simultaneously convey the breadth of the human condition and the fact that there was a green tag sale going on right now, continued pushing her cart down the aisle at Goodwill*. By the time she was to the housewares section her face was already forgotten to me – she was old-ish? brown-ish? short-ish? – but I kept her words and kindness in my memory.
That was this morning and tonight I feel the warmth of her hand, still, on my cheek. Like a bird on a wire. Not really gone.
There’s a freedom to wearing your pain on the outside, a fact I recently (re)discovered after emotionally vomiting all over the Internet last week. Keeping up appearances and faking-it-till-you-make-it-ing only lasts for so long. Eventually the thread binding your reality to your public persona pulls so tight it snaps. The curtain drops. The tears flow. You’re no longer obligated to automatically say “fine” when people ask how you are doing.
“Hey! How are you?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Oh! Um. Uh. Ok. What’s wrong?”
“I’m depressed.”
See? Liberating! No matter what happens next – and believe me when I say I’ve had all sorts of responses ranging from sympathy to advice to awkward silence to laughter – it feels kind of amazing to just put it out there. I’m having a sad. Why?No good reason, actually! Brain chemistry. Genes. Life changes. That I had to watch my oldest son get an abscessed tooth pulled when I can’t even watch a baby tooth fall out without dying a little. The fact that I’m not a fairy in human disguise after all and will never summon a unicorn or sail with Reepicheep to the end of the world or tesseract or have twins named Anne and Diana. There are plenty of things to be sad about if you really put your mind to it! And I was unabashedly wallowing in all of it.
Of course this also makes you intensely, gut-wrenchingly vulnerable. You feel it all – every whisper, look, slight (imagined or real), scream – too much. Where my depression last week was a crashing ocean of sad that kept me in mostly in bed and mostly in my head, this week it has settled out into a grim bone-weary fatigue. The passion of the dark ride is gone and I’m left, still on the ocean, but with no oars, hoping the sail takes me somewhere better. Hoping there are no sharks in the water as I go through all the daily motions of child care and shopping and cleaning and exercising and working and everything else that getting out of bed entails.
Unfortunately this new functionality means I (uncharacteristically, I hope) snap at friends, write rude diatribes on Facebook, ignore phone calls, write half-heartedly, and obsess over small things like grams of sugar while ignoring large things like paying the bills. It means I smear my carefully applied eyeliner off with the back of my hand because putting makeup on dead eyes is a masquerade that fools absolutely no one. The next morning I wake up and remember why I have makeup on my hand and want to put my pillow back over my face. Faces are terribly vulnerable possessions.
Especially when a stranger touches yours. Didn’t she know that touching a stranger’s face without permission breaks the cardinal rule of being a stranger? How did she know I wouldn’t yell at her? Or slap her hand away? How do I know she wasn’t speaking through a veil of Alzheimer’s or a language not mine or a mental illness?
I think it doesn’t matter, actually. Her touch snapped something open in me. Without her hand I wouldn’t have heard her voice. Oh, it hurts. Of course it does. Everyone hurts. And even though we all feel it, it doesn’t make it less legitimate or real for each person. Her simple act of reaching out to me – quite literally – reminded me of what it means to feel.
(c) Richard Renaldi This is my personal favorite of the bunch. I just love how soft their expressions are.
NPR recently did a story about Richard Renaldi, a photographer who recently explored this very idea with a project called Strangers Touching (from which all the pictures in the post come from). To get his shots, Renaldi asked disparate groups of strangers to pose intimately with each other – as if they were friends, family or lovers – and watched the real interactions that took the place of posed ones. Renaldi talks about how at first the situations felt artificial and contrived with all the strangers wanting to just hold hands. But he pushed for something more real by encouraging the strangers to embrace their discomfort and then reach through it to connect with another human being.
Here he describes one of his favorite photos:
“There is one of two women at a Buddhist temple in Hawaii. And one of the women, she worked at the temple, and she was bald because she had lost her hair undergoing chemotherapy. And she seemed somewhat frail but also cheerful and just quite lovely, warm. And then I found another woman who was there. She was on her honeymoon. She was a tourist from New Jersey. The woman from New Jersey, I had her put her hand caressing the other woman’s face in a very, very tender way. And when you see the picture, it reads as such a moment of tenderness.”
In a way I had my own Strangers Touching moment today and while I’m not often a fan of forced intimacy, in this case it was exactly what I needed to wake me up. To remind me that we always have the choice to push through our fears, anxieties and discomfort – our hurt – to make a connection with someone else. And that connections are always worthwhile.
And yet, for all its philosophical wonder, a neurotransmitter imbalance isn’t mitigated entirely by epiphanies. (Oh if only it worked that way!) As I pondered whether there is a way to simultaneously live with sadness but not live in sadness, I came across this passage in Chemistry of Joy by Henry Emmons, M.D.:
“But beyond our genetic makeup, we’ve learned to react, automatically and unconsciously, to life’s little stresses and insults, and […] our reactions can do more damage than the initial source of pain. So regardless of our temperament or bio-chemical “givens,” our job is to change our automatic and destructive reactions into conscious and healthy responses.
In this way, suffering is optional, although pain – both physical and emotional – is not. Even if we live in constant pain, we have a choice about whether or not to suffer with it. Although thoughts and feelings will arise, seemingly of their own accord, we can choose to focus on those thoughts and feelings, to feed them with our attention – or we can choose to let them pass while we focus on other things.” [Emphasis mine]
I will add that this philosophy is just one piece of Emmons more comprehensive treatment for mood disorders and he only suggests it after you’ve established the basics of healthy eating, sleeping, exercising and working. He’s not opposed to meds either but rather than see them as a cure, he sees them simply as one weapon among many in his arsenal. But I love this quote because it reminds me that I am not a victim to my emotions but am still the captain of my own journey. I’m just grateful I have so many wonderful people to accompany me on it – always like birds on the next wire. Not really gone.
People are so, so beautiful. My dear friend Dr. Jon recently wrote me that “There are two ways to bring light into the world, either by being a candle or a mirror – and at different times we are one or the other, even occasionally both.” Today this woman was my candle. Today I hope to be the mirror, reflecting her light. Will I be brave enough some day to be the candle and look a stranger in the eyes – really look – and say with no judgement, “Oh, it hurts!”? I hope so. Will I be kind enough to look myself in the eyes – really look – in the mirror and say with no judgement, “Oh, it hurts.”? I think I just did.
Have you ever had a stranger physically touch you? (wow, that sounds icky – which I suppose illustrates again how difficult such a simple thing is for us to talk about!) Ever had a funny/interesting/weird encounter with a stranger? What happened??
*I’ve had more than one person ask me how I meet all these “crazy” people in my life. I’m assuming they are asking for instructions because “crazy” = awesome in my book and I hope I never lose my gift for attracting it. So step 1: Hang out on the fringes sometimes – thrift stores, plasma centers, Wal-Mart, public libraries, subways. Step 2: Pop your invisibility bubble and make eye contact. Step 3: If someone talks, answer them. Everyone deserves to be heard.
I had a stranger stroke my hair once, on a train. In a creepy way though, not a calming way.
The way I’ve been feeling these days (depressed, which you just described more accurately and poignantly than I have ever been able to) I believe I probably would have cried. But not the sad kind of cry, the emotional release tidal wave kind of “someone understands” kind of cry.
As it is, this post made my day that much better. You are an incredible writer Charlotte.
Yeah, there’s definitely a lot of room for creepiness with the whole stranger-touching! And I’m so sorry that you’re dealing with the sads too these days! I might have cried when she said it except I was kind of in shock haha. I cried writing this post:) So glad I could help a little bit – we’re in this together:)
This is so incredibly powerful for me right now.. I was – a month and a half ago – a dynamo to be reckoned with. I descended into a major depression since then and culminated to what seemed like the end of my road on Saturday. I was driving and pulled over in the first available parking lot, Goodwill, when I decided I really wanted to be “done”. I sat for an hour and a half…I cried a little (I didn’t have will to do more) and just sat and watched people go in and out of the store. I finally called my doctor there and then, and am moving a half a step closer each day to coming back. I am trying to be kind to myself and take one thing at a time – not staying in bed: small victory..but I’ll take it. I made a goal before I went to bed tonight ( I’m up in the middle of the night often when depressed) that tomorrow I will try to put on a little make-up. I am so glad you had this experience and then shared it. I am going back to bed now, but I want you to know that today you were both the candle and the mirror to someone who is not just a flat screen, to someone who is real and is hanging on barely. Thank you.
Isn’t it interesting how depression can just cut us off at the knees? I too am normal a go-go-go kind of person so to literally spend all of last week in bed (not because I wanted to but because I just… couldn’t do anything else) was really unnerving for me. I also kind of smiled because we both had our “moment” at the Goodwill – we should do a commercial or something;)
Seriously though I’m so so sorry you are suffering right now, Jen, and I’m glad you called your doctor. ((huge hugs)) Thank you for taking the time to leave this comment – your story means a lot to me and I know what it took to share it! Feel free to reach out anytime – we’re in this together!
You’re missing the preamble: Did this woman just walk up to you in the store out of nowhere? (Maybe she was an angel!)
Some of the photos in that series are really good, but I can sense the awkwardness in many of them. Particulary in the 2nd photo you posted, that old lady looks like she’s ready to whack someone with her cane!
Hahah true!! I thought about including it but it kind of took away from the flow of the narrative. It’s not very exciting: Jelly Bean and I were looking for some stuff for her birthday (oh yes, I’m that cheap) and I was wandering down the sweater aisle and the lady was coming down the same aisle but from the other end. We did that kind of “I’ll go around you, you go in front of me” dance when we met in the middle. She made a comment about a sweater we were both looking at and I didn’t really respond. I think I just kind of shrugged and grunted . (I’m awesome). Which is when she looked at me and just patted my cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was SO WEIRD. But hey maybe angels are weird;)
Anyhow, I agree with you – there are a LOT of awkward pics in his collection. Although he says in his interview that the awkward was just as interesting as the not and I can see that. Strangers touching IS awkward. Too funny about the old lady’s expression – I can’t really read her, the wig is really throwing me off;)
I one time hugged an old homeless man outside 7-11. I’d given him some money and then he asked for a hug and although I’m normally really sensitive to strangers touching me it seemed like the right thing to do at that moment. So I did. I hope it helped, at least a little.
You’re so candid Charlotte, thank you. As someone who’s kind of having their own sad I appreciate it.
Aw this makes me love you so hard right now! And I’m sorry you’re in the sads too:( You’ve had a lot going on in your life so it’s understandable. Not that that makes in any easier…
Beautiful thoughts from a beautiful woman! So grateful you shared. I wish you joy.
Thanks Dad!
I love reading your posts, even the emotional vomit one, because you write so openly and honestly. I have tried and failed in the past to write as eloquently, but your writing seems to echo my thoughts pretty frequently. I wish there was a magic word or phrase that could help -I would be repeating it often I am sure- but I think when HF says endure to the end, it takes on a much deeper meaning during the hard times. I just became one of ‘those’ people who spout religious adages. :$ Wishing you sunshine today.
Thanks Jess – this means a lot to me, especially coming from someone who knows me in real life:) I know you understand these struggles and while I wish you didn’t have to, I appreciate having someone who really “gets it”. And I love our religion so feel free to “spout religious adages” to me anytime! We really need to get together so you can do it in person;)
P.S. I think you should try writing it again, I bet it’s beautiful and I’d love to read it!
I think it is lovely. Perhaps old ladies can just see past the junk we hide and are not afraid to say what we need to hear.
I am kinda heebie about strangers, but you gotta know that was a good thing. :hugs:
When a senior in college I was at the Rose Bowl! After the game sitting in the parking lot in a bus among hundreds of buses with their motors idling I stated to feel sick from the fumes. On the way back to the hotel I finally couldn’t help myself and I threw up on the floor. A total stranger (a man) sitting next to me put his hand on my forehead as I was heaving to comfort me! I’ll never forget that amazing kindness!
Most of my friends are what you would call “crazy”… and so am I. It’s a quality I think. 🙂
Seems like many of us are in a funk. Which is putting it mildly, I know. But just about everyone is seemingly having some serious depression, which is not to take away from yours or anyone else’s. I have a whole bunch of theories on why it’s happening, but I won’t go into that. I’ll just send out love and good thoughts, and hope they find their way to you and to everyone who needs them.
((Hugs)) <3
I think I mentioned on a previous post that I was going through a similar time. Looking at the comments here it seems to be a pandemic !
Thank you for the post and you made me smile.
I have, on a few occasions, had a sweet stranger offer me comfort when they could tell somehow that I needed it. Normally I’m not a touchy feely sort of person but I cannot say in words how much kind comfort I recieved from those people. Sincerity and kindness offered freely are wonderful things.
I’m sorry you’re still having difficulties Charlotte. It’s very difficult sometimes to wade through all the emotions of life in a way that makes sense in the end isn’t it? I myself have had to face up to some rather huge things lately too. I offer you a hug when you need most need one…in advance 🙂
A few years ago I was at Union Station in Chicago with my mom. We were trying to get to our platform to go home after a day of shopping and we had to cut though a line for another gate to get to ours. A stranger reached out and grabbed my arm as I passed. I was about to wrench it away when I realized the stranger was actually my best friend who I hadn’t seen in a very long time! She was going to school in Chicago at the time and was heading home as well. If she hadn’t spotted me I never would have noticed her. It was potentially really frightening/creepy situation that turned out to be an awesome case of synchronicity.
last year I fell on the escalator at the Denver Airport, the way I fell it was impossible to get up until I arrived at the bottom of the steps. As I lay in a heap at the bottom a stranger who was concerned. He asked if I was ok and reaching out his hand helped me up. I was so humbled by the fall as it really hurt my leg, but this unexpected kindness lifted my spirits……my family had ran ahead to see if we could make a flight since we had been delayed getting into Denver….now everytime I see an escalator I grab the sides and hold on praying that never happens again.
I have a plaque in my entryway that says “enter as strangers, leave as friends” I always figured a stranger is just a friend I haven’t met yet! you never know one might even be an angel.
“Everyone deserves to be heard.” My partner is a good Texas girl, and she always tells our son that sometimes people just want to talk – she will let people talk her ear off and they love her for it. I adore that quote.
I think part of what makes a touch from a stranger so powerful is that all you see of them is the depth of their compassion.
The day my dog died, I ran an errand a few blocks from home. On the walk home, I started to cry, tears streaming down my face. An earth-mothery woman waiting at a corner for the walk signal asked me what was wrong, and when I told her she pulled me into the circle of her arms for a tight hug.
I got the weeps again just a couple of houses from home. A kid in his late teens affecting some serious swag said, “Hey, pretty eyes.” (The redness and swelling must have really made my 40-something eyes pop.) Then he realized I was crying and (again) I explained that my dog had just died. He said,”You live there? I love that dog!.” Then _he_ pulled me into the circle of his arms for a tight hug.
Who knows how these people would have responded if I had cut them off in traffic, but I’m still moved years later by the way they both responded when they saw me in pain, giving me the only thing they could think of to give that might help.