All It Takes Is A Little Love

T.S Eliot wrote The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock somewhere between 1910 and 1911 to express the difficulty that humans faced in adjusting to the modern world. In one of the lines of the poem Prufrock proclaims with frustration, “That’s not what I meant at all!” 

T.S. Eliot was way ahead of his time. I sometimes wonder what he might think of our present times when we humans seem to be misunderstanding and bickering with each other so much. Perhaps he would just suggest that people have not really changed that much and that we humans have always had a tendency to ascribe wrong beliefs to each other. He certainly had a clear understanding of human nature in his writing that is no doubt the reason that his work lives on as a classic.

We are at one of those moments in time that makes me scratch my head in total confusion because every single time I write down my thoughts somebody totally misunderstands what I am attempting to say. I have to wonder if I need to be clearer in the choices of my words and phrases or if we humans are hardwired to overlay our own feelings onto others. After all there have been situations in which we humans have completely missed the mark when it came to actively listening to the people around us without mentally drafting our rebuttals even as the person was still speaking. Perhaps it has always been true that we view the world through a lens that is protective of the essence of who we are. 

A few weeks ago I had scheduled a blog that was intended to discuss violent shooters in general. I write things sometimes as far out as a month, so not everything that I compose is related to the most recent events. On this day I woke up and realized that my commentary coincided with the tragic murder of Charlie Kirk. What I had written had nothing whatsoever to do with my feelings for Mr. Kirk one way or another so I mentioned at the top of the blog that my musings had been composed weeks before. I wanted people to know that my generalizations could not necessarily be attributed to my thoughts on Charlie Kirk’s death. I realized that it was almost eerie that my mention of guns and violence and disturbed young men had hit so close to yet another grotesque tragedy in our nation. 

Sadly, I really wonder how many people actually read what I had written. Many of their responses to me had nothing whatsoever to do with the text. Some went into long defenses of Mr. Kirk as though I had somehow very coldly disrespected him. They challenged my feelings and my personal beliefs and brought up other times when they disagreed with me, none of which had any connection to the blog for that day. I literally thought of J. Alfred Prufrock and the irony of our frequent difficulties in truly understanding each other. 

On another occasion I wrote about my sorrow over the death of George Floyd. I had watched him choking and calling out for his mother as he was dying under the knee of a police officer and it horrified me. I had also been contacted by one of my former students who was devastated by what he had seen. He told me that he knew that I would understand how to speak of the tragedy in a way that would help people know how he and other young Black men were feeling in that moment. That is what I tried to do, but even then I had people misunderstand the main idea of my essay and then accuse me of supporting riots.

Somehow our tendencies to simply talk over each other seem to have become worse in the hundred plus years since Eliot wrote his poem. Even when I attempt to clarify my thoughts and embrace a willingness to consider why the other person is so upset with me, I can’t seem to get through to him or her. It is as though we all live in different worlds speaking different languages. 

I have often suggested that whenever we feel that someone is very wrong in their thinking our first response should be to encourage them to tell us what made them feel so upset. I find that more often than not the person has had a life experience that was so terrifying that it strongly affects how they react to different situations When I hit near what is a trigger for them they go inside themselves and have difficulty really hearing me. In those cases I attempt to reflect what I hear them saying with respect rather than immediately defending myself. Given an opportunity I use active listening that goes something like this:

I hear you saying that my blog upset you. Is that right?

Wait for response.

What were the things that caused your feelings?

Wait for response.

What I hear is… Do I have the right idea?

Wait for response. 

Would you like to know why I wrote these things?

Wait for response.

And so it goes. 

Sometimes this really works and saves a relationship. Two people only intent on defending themselves rarely come to a state of understanding and respect for each other. 

Try this the next time someone goes off on you and you feel like J. Alfred Prufrock murmuring “That is not what I meant at all.” Honor people’s feelings and they are more likely to honor yours. If they stay angry then they have most probably made up their minds no matter what. That’s when it’s time to just let it go.  

“All you need is the plan, the road map and the courage to press on to your destination.” — Earl Nightingale

As parents, teachers, friends we do our best to encourage young people to follow their dreams, realistically decide how to so and then keep trying in spite of setbacks. What we too often forget  to understand is that sometimes that kind of journey can be far more difficult than anyone ever imagined and sometimes life makes it impossible to reach for the stars. 

In working with underserved, often misunderstood students I have learned that the roadblocks that some young people face feel insurmountable. Little wonder that many of them set their hopes aside and give in to the realities of their situations. Depending on a person’s situation in life it can be harder to press on to a destination. 

Children with loving parents, financial security, good health, excellent education systems, average to above average intellect and multiple support systems are more likely to be able to trudge forward to fulfill an imagined destiny than those living in abusive situations, poverty, and learning disabilities. Removing any of the safety rails that make life more likely to lead to success creates barriers that are sometime all but certain to overcome the determination of even the most dedicated individuals. We don’t all have the same start down the road. Being pushed far behind can be devastating and yet there are those who seem to believe that it is unfair to provide such a person a break when it is apparent that they will demonstrate all of the positive qualities necessary if given a fair chance to succeed.    

I can see the faces of students who found the courage to press on because a teacher or relative or even a friend saw something in them that nobody else was able to see. Instead of consoling them to accept their deficiencies someone helped them find the tools they would need to reach goals that seemed far out of reach. We all know someone who seemed to have it all who gave up after only a few disappointments and someone who was not deterred in spite of many naysayers and setbacks. 

I am particularly proud of a young man whose dreams seemed so far out reach that many adults tried to help him accept that his limitations would not get him where he wanted to be. He lived in the shadow of downtown Houston in an area with schools that regularly ranked low in academic excellence. His family did not possess the kind of wealth that would buy him tutors or experiences or references. He had some learning difficulties that tended to hide his actual brilliance. When he announced that he wanted to be an engineer few took him seriously. Even his grades seemed too average to get him a slot in a program at a university and yet he was unwilling to listen to the negativity. He knew that he had a propensity for mathematics and that he had always been fascinated with how things work. He applied to a college that was created for young people like him and eagerly dove into his classes. 

He benefitted from the fact that the university was in a place with little to do beyond taking classes and studying. The tiny town was perfect for keeping his attention focused on learning. He encountered challenging classes that threatened to change his trajectory but he gutted through each of them. After more years that he had expected he finally graduated with a degree in engineering but the fates were not going to be kind. His search for a job came during a downturn in the economy and then Covid hit. He worked but not at the kind of jobs that were worthy of his hard work and his degree. It seemed that in spite of his efforts he would never reach the heights that he knew he was capable of achieving. 

Out of the blue a friend from college called to tell him about an internship program at a small company in a small town. He was not too proud the take the offer even as he realized that he already knew everything they were teaching him. He worked harder than anyone. He was willing to arrive early and stay late. He worked on weekends and even holidays.The senior engineers saw that he was different from the others, more dedicated, more curious. They hired him for a regular engineering position. An older engineer became his mentor. The young man demonstrated that he was willing to work anytime they asked and for as many hours as they needed. They saw the go to attitude that had always been his. They encouraged him to take the exam to become a Professional Engineer. He will soon be trying for that distinction.

He has surpassed peers who at one time appeared to be more likely to succeed. He did it because he never stopped believing in himself. He did it because there was no amount of work that was too much for him. He continues to press toward a destination that he always believed he was capable of achieving. He had a plan and he stuck to it. He worked hard, was always nice and continues to plow on. He knows how its done even when everything seems to be stacked against reaching the destination. He is a success because he saw the road ahead and never stopped moving along. He’s not finished yet.

It’s amazing how much I remember about my father. Even though I was only eight when he died I have been able to piece together my memories of him into a more adult vision of who he was as a person. Perhaps because he was a creature of habit it has been easier to view him with the eyes of reality rather than only the childhood admiration that I had for him.

My father was a young man who faithfully went to work each day to care for his family. Ours was a typical nineteen fifties arrangement in which he brought home the income and my mother kept the home fires burning. We had a good life because he had worked hard to earn a college degree in mechanical engineering, but even I noticed his dissatisfaction with the work he was doing. I am rather certain that he moved from job to job hoping to find a way to use his knowledge meaningfully. Working in the oil and gas business, which was the most common route for mechanical engineers, was not challenging enough for him, nor did it feel like something that would make a difference in the world. The only time I saw him animated about his work was when he spoke about the potential of changing the salt water of the ocean into potable water that might be used for humankind. 

My father had so many talents that I suppose it was difficult for him to decide what he really wanted out of life. He was so incredibly well educated that he was able to discuss literature, history, philosophy, science, mathematics, music, architecture, art and even sports with the knowledge and confidence of an expert. Sometimes I imagine that there were two sides to him the artistic one that played to his greatest joys and the practical one that he used to care for his family. That those two aspects of who was were in conflict seems rather certain to me in retrospect.

Daddy would leave early in the morning and return each evening at a fairly regular hour. He liked to use the time before dinner to wind down from the day’s challenges. He would invariably put one of his favorite classical records on the turntable and then stretch across the living room couch with the evening newspaper or the most recent book that he was devouring. If I or one of my brothers came around vying for his attention he usually gave it to us in the form of lessons on whatever he had just finished reading about. He took adult themes and explained them the way even a little one might comprehend them. I was often exposed to literature that should have been above my understanding but my father nonetheless found ways to make learning so easy. 

My father liked to talk about what was happening in the world at large during dinner. He was never political so I have no idea if he was conservative or liberal, Republican or Democrat. Instead he talked in generalizations about current events and often offered what he considered to be sage advice to me and my brothers. Given our young ages I now laugh at his assurance that we were not too young to hear about topics that few of our peers even knew existed. 

He was a forward thinking man who was always bringing in new inventions, new discoveries, new philosophies. We were often the first in our extended family to purchase the latest appliances and cars. I vividly recall when the first television I had ever seen was delivered to our home. It was life changing for all of us and became a nightly way of sharing even more time with my father who was addicted to comedy of every kind. While others might have been watching dramas or variety shows or westerns my father and I caught all of the comedies, at least until it was time for me to go to bed. In retrospect I suppose that I heard some jokes that were a bit above my pay grade as as five, six, seven or eight year old but I was so naive then that I only laughed because my Daddy was filling the air with his chuckles. 

My father had been an outstanding student. I see that even more clearly now than when he was alive. The beauty of sites like Ancestry.com have allowed me to see his junior high and high school yearbooks. In those annuals I realize that he was active in clubs of every sort and even played football for a time. He won the American Legion award in the eighth grade and graduated from high school with honors. He was a perfectionist in his work and in his devotion to our family. 

My father loved to travel and he took me and my brothers all over the United States. He was working on visiting all forty eight of the states that existed before he died. He took photos of me in museums and at historical sites from the time I was an infant in a baby carriage. He was happiest when he was seeing new places and excitedly teaching us about what we had seen. 

Just before my father died he lectured me to do my best in school. I had admittedly slacked off a bit and he had taken note of my lack of attention to my studies. He urged me to set goals and work hard and become the best of myself. He did not lecture. I saw his words as a sign of his love. When he died I became dedicated to carrying out the challenges that came before me. I suppose that I even became a teacher because somehow that is how I saw my father, a loving and exciting teacher who explained so much about the world to me. 

I still feel such a closeness to my father. When I travel I think of how much he would have enjoyed the places that I have visited. When I read a good book I wish I had the opportunity to discuss it with him. When I have to push myself beyond what I think I can do and then succeed I silently thank him for his sage advice. Isn’t it amazing how one person might have so much influence on a child that he lives on for decades as a guiding light. That is my father who lives in me even now. How lucky I have been.  

“Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.”

“The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.”

“And remember, no matter where you go, there you are.” —Confucius

Who among us has never faced a situation in which we ultimately felt that we had done everything wrong? We chide ourselves for being failures and maybe even give up on whatever we had been attempting to achieve. The one act that left me feeling horrific for many years afterword involved the way in which I agreed to treat my mother’s mental illness the first time that her bipolar disorder raged to the point of depression and paranoia that frightened me. 

Looking back I have been able to ultimately forgive myself. I was quite young at the time, barely past the age of being legal to drink alcohol. I had never before experienced the confusing behavior of a person with mental illness. I knew nothing about doctors who offer care for such things. I was in fact groping in the dark while grieving that my mother was suffering in a most horrific way. Not even the adults with whom I conferred wanted to offer any kind of advice. I realized that I was on my own and would have to take a stab in the dark to make my mother well again. 

As it turned out I relied on the expertise of our family physician, which I suppose was a proper thing to do rather than bowing to old wives’ tales or the advice of laymen. He gave me the names of two psychiatrists whom he admired and I simply drew one of the names out of a hat. The doctor was kind enough to offer to help but instead of first seeing my mother in his office, he insisted that she had to be hospitalized immediately. (I would later learn that such a dramatic move was not necessary but at the time I had no way of knowing better.) 

It took some trickery on my part to get my mom to agree to go with me to the hospital. I did not like fooling her and just as I silently predicted the fact that I had not been totally honest when I conned her into signing herself in for treatment would haunt our relationship forevermore. Still, I was unable to think of any other way to get her the help that I believed she needed. 

Once she was in the hospital the doctor took over and to a large extent used psychology to get me to agree to procedures that I would later learn were not really necessary. Sadly the experience was so horrific for my mother that she found it difficult to trust me from that point until the day that she died. Part of her loved me in spite of what she saw as a betrayal and the other part allowed her motherly love to overcame the hurt that she felt. 

The next time that she became ill, and there were many next times, I was more mature and sure of myself. I set out in search of a doctor for her, taking time to insure that he or she would try to heal my mother without hospitalization and procedures that would terrify anyone. After speaking with many psychiatrists and asking them many questions I decided to take her to a doctor who had listened to my concerns attentively and who explained that he used a different approach to helping his patients than the person who had first treated my mom. He explained that different medical schools pushed different practices and as such he turned out to be exactly the physician that my mother needed. He treated both her and me with respect and she had a very long term and successful time with him. He had shown a willingness to help heal slowly and under my care in a home setting. It was a good match all the way around. 

Still, I carried feelings of guilt until my daughter was studying to be a nurse. By happenstance a discussion arose about the care of mental illness in one of her classes. She described the journey that my mother and I had taken together in the quest to keep Mama well. She furthermore described the horror of the first attempt and the subsequent negative feelings that I had carried for decades. The professor’s response was the the remedy that I had needed for so long. 

She explained to the class that dealing with a loved one who has a mental illness is one of the most difficult medical situations that we might ever encounter, especially if we have not had any previous experience with it. She insisted that even the medical teams who work with such individuals sometimes feel as though they are groping in the dark as they attempt to find the proper treatments for each individual. She told my daughter that I had done what I had to do to keep my mother from delving more and more deeply into the dark pit that was consuming her and that ultimately the initial treatment that she endured had obviously saved her. She applauded me for learning how to tailor future treatments to my mother’s feelings and needs and told the class that I was the kind of hero that doctors not often see. 

I am not writing about this to boast that I am somehow a terrific person but because the journey with someone who is afflicted with mental illness can become so dark and confusing that there are times when the individual seeking care for them is unable to decide whether what they are doing is good or bad. Everyone will experience deep emotions and mistakes will be made. The point is to rise again and be willing to keep trying for the sake of the person who is afflicted. In the end they are the ones who are feeling an indescribable and deep pain for which there is often no permanent cure. Their lifetimes become defined by the symptoms of their illnesses with moments in between when they find themselves again. It is important that we focus on them rather than our own failings. What we need is the strength and willingness to keep moving sometimes slowly forward and sometimes slowly backward. All the while we would do well to remember that the spirit of Confucius’ wisdom is cheering us on. 

I have always been fascinated by the fact that a high speed train traveling in a tunnel for much of the way is able to reach Paris from London in about two and a half hours. When I mentioned to my husband that I would really enjoy spending a day in Paris on our trip he flinched and pointed out that we had already planned to travel to Scotland and would not have time. Nonetheless, I was insistent that if we left early enough in the morning on one of our free days we would have an entire day to see much of Paris without having to worry about hotels and such. 

I found the Eurostar site and learned that there is a train leaving from London to Paris at six each day which would put us in Paris at eight thirty, providing enough time to hit the highlights and still get a feel for the city. I saw the wheels turning in hubby’s head and I knew that he was suddenly as interested in the idea as I had been. I sealed the deal by noting that the experience on the fast train would be as much a part of the trip as the city itself. 

We went to bed early on the evening before our remarkable journey so that we might arise from our slumbers by three in the morning and head quickly to the train station at St. Pancras. We scheduled a car for the early hour which promptly arrived by three thirty and was waiting for us as we exited the hotel. The streets of London were more deserted than I had ever witnessed and our ride went quickly. 

The vendors were barely coming alive when we arrived at St. Pancras. The gate to the Eurostar was not yet open so we waited patiently on a bench sipping tea and munching on a light breakfast. It was strange seeing so few signs of life in a place usually packed with travelers. It did not take long for the place to pop back to life once the gate to Eurostar opened. I was stunned by the number of people who would be joining us on the “chunnel” over. 

The train itself was so long that I though we would never reach our assigned car. Since we were only staying for the day we did not have to worry about luggage. We settled into our seats and as though someone had pulled a switch we were on our way by six thirty speeding toward Paris in the dark. The rhythm of the ride lulled me into a light sleep and by the time we were back on land the sun was rising over the little towns through which we moved. It was stunning how quickly we reached our destination

We secured a ride to the Louvre which was at the top of our must see bucket list. We were shocked by the crowds standing in long lines named by the hours at which the ticket holders would be allowed inside. We had a bit of leeway before we needed to join the que and that allowed us to walk around the area and stroll over to the Seine River. The buildings and the atmosphere were as electric as I had hoped they would be. Soon it was time to walk through the glass pyramid into the wonder that is the Louvre. 

I have to admit that I felt a bit overwhelmed once I was inside. I had not expected such a huge crowd. It was not at like the quiet strolls that I was accustomed to having in other galleries. We were like sardines packed into a small can. Still, we were incredibly excited about just being there and we were determined to first see the Mona Lisa. We followed the guide that took us up one set of stairs after another and along hallways filled with people. After at least a fifteen minute hike made slower by all of the visitors we were finally in the room where Leonardo da Vinci’s most famous work resides. 

At first all I was only able to see was a mass of people in front of me. I soon enough realized that if I was going to actually see the painting I would have to be a bit more aggressive like the people who had pushed past me. With a bit of effort I had a glorious moment when suddenly there was the lovely lady in her all splendor smiling at me with that mysterious expression on her face. I snapped as many photos as possible before I was pushed aside. I felt as though everything about the trip was as glorious as I had wanted it to be. I needed nothing else to make our journey worthwhile but there would be more to come.

We spent a bit more time looking at other fantastic works of art but knew that our visit would have to be a bit like speed dating so that we might see the other sights. Our next destination was Notre Dame Cathedral which was part two on my bucket list. 

I had cried when I saw that incredible church on fire. I worried that it would never be the same. I was stunned when it reopened after only five years. I had watched a video of the painstaking repairs and I knew that I had to see the place in person. Sadly try as I may I was unable to secure tickets to get inside. Just standing in front was good enough for me when I saw the long lines of people vying to enter. I realized that I probably would not have been able to get the spiritual feeling that I desired with so many souls sharing the space. Instead I enjoyed the breathtaking views of the exterior with the spire and roof repaired from the horrific damage of the fire. I cried as I thought of how sacred the place was and spent quite some time just sitting and staring at the wonder of it all. 

The clock was ticking and we were hungry so we found a nearby cafe and ordered some wine and onion soup which proved to be more tasty than I expected. We stayed for a long while just watching the people pass in front of us and enjoyed the fact that nobody was pushing us to hurry up and leave. Being in that quaint spot ended up being one of the most wonderful moments of the trip. 

I had promised a young student of mine that I would bring him a miniature Eiffel Tower and a nearby shop had exactly what I needed. The miniatures were so lovely that I purchased one for myself. We were running out of time and a visit to the base of the tower would have to wait for next time, but we were close enough to get some wonderful photos. 

We walked some more through the streets of Paris and our stroll was as lively as it might have been. I felt the vibe of the city and its people. As we waited for the car that would take us back to the train station we marveled at the people riding motorcycles, mopeds, bicycles and scooters in the crowded streets. It was the best show in town but before leaving we enjoyed the almost sinful delight of Pan au Chocolate. Afterall what is Paris without a bakery?

It was with reluctance that we left the city after dark. We were tired and ready to be back in London but I think that both of us agreed that we had only had a taste of Paris and we wanted more one day. We got back to St. Pancras Station that once again felt empty due to the late hour but we marveled at the crowds enjoying the night life in the streets of London even at such a late hour. We were ready for slumber and happy that we had spent the day in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. We knew that there was a very good chance that we would one day return.