To Better Yourself, Think of Someone Else

On a plane ride home a few months ago, I was crying non-stop in my upgraded first-class seat. I’m not sure why flying back to where I live has been such an emotional trigger for me since my break-up, but it has.

After a few moments, the woman next to me offered me a tissue and said, “I hope whatever it is becomes easier soon.”

I took the tissue, used it for the remainder of the flight, and have been grateful to that woman, both for the tissue and her words, ever since.

I wish I got her name and a way to contact her so I could thank her properly, let her know how much I appreciated her act of humanity.

Because in the midst of a deep depression, it’s tough to feel human, much less witness and acknowledge the presence of humanity in others. Even more so when that humanity is directed at you.

It wasn’t just that she noticed I was in pain and did something about it. It was her words. She didn’t wish for my pain to go away, because neither of us could control that. She didn’t tell me it would get better, even though it would because that’s not what I needed to hear.

Instead, I needed to hear hope, reassurance, and really, just a friendly, empathetic voice. One I wasn’t paying by the hour to listen to me, even though at that moment, my tears were doing the talking for me.

If I could reach her, I would say more than thank you. I would say her simple act was a milestone on my long, slow path to recovery. And that I’ll never forget it.

…

One summer evening commute during my New York City days, I boarded a crowded uptown 1 train after waiting in the stultifying, simmering air of the 42nd Street subway stop.

No sooner had the doors closed when a little boy, cradled in his mother’s lap, his head on her shoulder, threw up. It was immediately apparent, by sight and smell, the boy had just drunk orange juice.

By the time the boy stopped, the train had left the station. I looked at the mother’s face, and she wore every emotion you could think of: shock, surprise, worry, helplessness, a bit of disgust, a bit of laughter, and love when the boy put his arms around her.

So you do what one does when someone throws up on the subway. People reached into their bags for tissues and wipes. The mother, with the boy on her and people crowded around her, couldn’t move. So people came to her and helped her out. One woman even offered her a shirt. You’d be surprised at what New Yorkers carry around with them all day, even on the subway.

I think about that scene a lot. She was a stranger to all of us in that car, a mother trying to get herself and her son home. One of them got sick, in the worst of places, in one of the worst of ways, and people helped. And she wound up smiling.

It was a little gross and smelly but also very touching. No one did anything wrong, and so many did something right. Everyone who could see her felt bad for the mother and her son.

We all knew what a lousy situation that was. We all could relate.

…

This is not meant to be a feel-good piece about the potential and wonder in acts of kindness by strangers, as heartwarming and endearing as they can be.

They are instead, to me, reminders, from both my present and past, of what it looks like to be empathetic. To see another person, and not just offer help, as good as that is, but to offer understanding, of relating to what another person might be feeling — and needing in that moment. Sometimes we need tissues and clothes. Sometimes we need directions, or food, or touch, or a second opinion.

But what we need most, because we’re human with complex emotions, is to be recognized. Sometimes heard, but always recognized. Acknowledged. Considered.

This is where we go, as men and as a society, in light of #MeToo. Some may cringe at me bringing up #MeToo in this context. Believe me, I receive comments that are, shall we say, critical of the feminist perspective. That’s fine. You are free to go read something else.

This question, of what it means to be a good man, a better man, in today’s society is why I’m here in the first place.

The concept of empathy is critical to men becoming better men (and better people generally) and for us to make women feel more comfortable in their surroundings at the office, in public, or anywhere else.

(Sure, women should feel empathy for others too, but I’m not concerned with that perspective in this space. I’m here to deal with my own shit and to try to figure out how men can be not such boorish assholes and instead try to make the world a better place for everyone.)

I’ve touched on this theme before, of how men literally see women. And of how women navigate the world in ways men hardly consider or are even aware of.

I started thinking about empathy in the context of #MeToo after news came of Louis C.K.’s first comeback attempt and Matt Lauer’s comments that he too was angling for a return to public life.

I am less concerned with the careers of these two schmucks than I am about the message their return to notoriety and success would send.

I asked myself if I were a woman, how would I feel about them reacquiring their elevated status? How would I feel about a man who masturbated in front of women without their permission, then aggressively moved to keep them silent, often at the cost of their career, returning to fame and fortune in less than a year without any public demonstration of repentance, guilt or growth? How would I feel about a man who serially sexually abused women through his power and status, in his closed, locked office, returning to national TV?

I’ll tell you how I would feel: about the same as the kid in the subway who just had orange juice.

I believe in reconciliation, I believe in punishment and paying for your mistakes, and in second chances. But neither of those means you get to return to the way things were after your heinous behavior was exposed.

Because of the way things were wholly unacceptable. And disgusting and gross.

As a man, I want no part of any society or culture that allows sexual predators fame, fortune and status. These men, if they even need to, can make a living somehow else. I don’t want any part of sending a message, intentionally or not, that our society will whitewash sexual crime. Men need to say it and believe it. That’s what I’m doing here right now.

People like Lauer and C.K. were part of the problem. Until they prove to be part of the solution, I’d prefer they stay away.

…

Then, as I’m wont to do, I thought about it some more.

In everyday situations, I started asking myself what I did after the Lauer and C.K. news broke: how would this make me feel if I were a woman? Or rather, since I’m not, what message is this sending to women, whether “this” is a breaking news story from far away, a misogynist tweet or a whistle while walking down the street.

In my first piece here, I mentioned the differences between men and women in their perspective to parking garages. After a party a few weeks ago, as a group of us were departing, we talked about where we parked. One woman commented that she was parked in a nearby garage, but it wasn’t a murder garage.

It was a joke, but it wasn’t. It was clear, as I wrote in that first piece, that she had to consider her personal safety when she decided where to park. I only considered how far I’d have to walk.

It made me think of how many other situations there must be for women like this — and how exhausting it must be to go through life like that. And this prism filters down to so many facets of life.

In one of my past jobs, there was a rumor about sexual infidelity among and between the senior executive team. At the time I found it distasteful and yes, it did alter the way I viewed the people involved. I realize that adult men and women will do as they please, but I wonder what message is sent to the women at the company that one of its leaders was having sex with other employees.

I was recently asked by a coworker about my salary. I flinched at first, knowing because of my age and seniority and position that I made much more than she did, but I told her. I wanted her to know. I wanted her to know what she could accomplish, what she could attain, what she could expect. Bridging the pay gap between men and women is beyond one person to fix, but it starts with honesty, clarity and the intention for equality.

Last week I came across this tweet by someone I don’t know in person but enjoy following on Twitter: “If you’re going to wear a tank top, at least wax your shoulders, dude. Nobody cares how much iron you can pump when it looks like you are wearing a short-sleeved mohair sweater.”

This pithy, flippant joke is bottom level body shaming. Yet…it made me think about my physical appearance. I’ve never been shy about taking my shirt off at the beach or pool, and I’m not a fan of tank tops anyway. But for a moment, yeah, it made me feel bad about my body. And this just from a single tweet from someone I’ve never met.

I can’t imagine the scale, in terms of frequency and volume, of body shaming that is thrust upon women by our society. The ads, the looks, the TV and movies, the magazines, fashion, practically the entire enterprise that is Instagram, all create a baseline expectation of unattainable and unsustainable beauty. Yes, men have insecurities with their bodies as well, more and more for much of the same reasons as women. But it’s not nearly as constant for men as it is for women. Women need to consider their appearance, both their bodies and their clothing, in ways most men can’t conceive of.

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If you are a man and you are wondering why any of this matters, or, hopefully, wondering what you could to help make things just a little better, I’d start with that sense of imagination. We learn in kindergarten to treat others the way we’d want to be treated. That maxim still holds true, no matter how many adults ignore it, no matter how our hormones dictate our behavior, no matter what social structures have evolved to lead us where we are today.

What I would say to other men is this. Imagine if you got paid less simply because you were a woman. Imagine if you had to be hyper-aware of physical and sexual assault everywhere you fucking go. Imagine if your career opportunities were limited simply because you were a different gender. Imagine now how your career opportunities are expanded simply because you are a man.

Much of this, of course, is simple and straightforward. We never needed #MeToo to force us to consider being more empathetic human beings.

Or did we? I never knew the scope of the world women inhabit until all these stories came out. Here, on this very platform, are stories of women still enduring the demeaning, dehumanizing, insulting wounds from sexual harassment. Enough.

If you’re ready to take the next step, spend some time outside your own brain and consider what someone else is experiencing. If you can do that, and respond in kind, you’ll improve your state of empathy.

Then, hopefully, we all can experience what my fellow passenger wished for me: that whatever is hurting us will soon become just a little bit easier.

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Previously published on Medium.com.

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