Empathy Becomes Real

I’m a guy, and not terribly concerned about my appearance.  My hair is short and takes a few seconds to comb or brush into place.  I almost always wear a collared shirt with two pockets, one for my iPhone and the other for my pen and reading glasses.  My slacks are dark, my socks are black, my shoes are black.  I trim my beard every week or two, and I wear no makeup.

Simple. Constant.  Quick.

By contrast, many people I know, men and women, pay much more attention to their appearance than I do to mine.  They will color, tint, streak, wash, blow dry, and brush their hair.  Blouses, sweaters, or jackets vary according to the season, the time of day, or the event.  Pants, dresses, or ties are selected by color, designer, and whim.  Shoes?  My mother once packed twenty four-pairs of shoes for a two week family vacation.

Sophisticated.  Variable. Time consuming.

At this point you might, justifiably, be thinking that I am ranting against caring too much about your appearance before appearing in public.  If I had written this yesterday morning you might have been correct.  “Just go out there,” I would have said.  “You look fine.  You don’t need to fine tune your makeup or your pocket square.”

Today I have changed my mind, because yesterday afternoon I had an empathic experience.

For much of the past week I have suffered from a head cold.  My nose dripped, my ears were clogged, and, worst of all, my head was stuffy.  This means that I had difficulty hearing, could not focus on what was being said, and my brain would not process information reliably.  In short, yesterday was a day for me to stay in bed and watch sports on TV, which I did.

Unfortunately for me, at three in the afternoon I had agreed to host an outdoor 70^th birthday party at my home for a close friend.  As host I was expected to put in an appearance, which I did.  While I didn’t shake hands or hug anyone, I said “hello,” received thanks and compliments, and after a few hours begged off and said my “goodbyes.”  It was a difficult experience for me.

Walking back into my house, and looking forward to returning to my bed, I realized that I just didn’t want to appear in public with a less than perfect mind.  “Just like someone,” I thought, “who doesn’t want to appear in public with a less than perfect appearance.”

Ouch!  My mind flashed on all those years of tapping my mental fingers while waiting for my partner to perfect her appearance before leaving the house.  Of course my own calling card, my mind, was always ready to go.

So in the future I vow to be more patient while waiting for the final brushing of hair or selection of shoes.  I will realize that we all want to be presentable in front of company.

My new problem is that I am now more consciously self-conscious about the appearance of my mind.  For example, I think that the title to this blog could be a bit better, but my mind is not yet at one hundred percent so I’m sending this blog out in public anyway.  I trust that since I now have more empathy, you will exhibit more compassion if my thoughts fall short of perfection.

Or perhaps you have had that compassion all along.

Thanks.

Alan