The Exhaustion of an Empath

NOTE: I wrote most of this back in December and couldn't figure out what the point was, or how to end it.  When we get there, I'll explain why I'm trying it up now.

Some of the things I remember starkly about my childhood are... they're not what I would consider objectively memorable moments.

For instance, one time I remember my grandparents were visiting us when we lived in Fort Smith (which means I was younger than 12, and probably much younger). My dad was making bread, and my grandpa, who was headed through the kitchen to go outside, asked, "What's that you're making? Chocolate chip cookies?" Dad explained that he was making bread, and that was it.

But in my brain, my grandpa wanted chocolate chip cookies, and this was a grave disappointment. Obviously, I know now that homemade bread is a great deal more exciting than cookies, but as a kid... I was projecting. I felt his disappointment, and I felt terrible, and I genuinely wanted to make chocolate chip cookies so he'd be happy.

As I've matured, my tendency toward empathy has sharpened and I've gotten better at it, but I probably still misfire often enough. And more than just empathy, I've begun to realize that I often internalize what I think other people's feelings are, and they become a responsibility to me. I know that some people intentionally push off their negative feelings on someone else (the whole "shite rolls downhill" thing), but much of my life has been my empathetically picking up on someone's negative feelings, and then taking it upon myself to mitigate them.

My first husband was definitely mad at me for eating a piece of Christmas candy once after saying that I wasn't hungry, and my brain turned that into that he was mad at me for eating period, and that he thought I was too fat, and... it turned out I was right. I hounded him about it until he admitted it, then when I was devastated, he accused, "I wouldn't have SAID anything if you hadn't BUGGED me so much!" As though it were hidden. As though it were my fault for being in tune with his energy and just wanting confirmation of my suspicions.

I know now that other people's feelings are not my responsibility. Obviously, I owe it to my fellow man to live in a way that isn't harmful toward them, and when I mess up, it's my responsibility to fix it. But feeling responsible to MAKE someone's bad feelings go away is not healthy.

For instance, I homeschool. I support everyone's right to choose how their kids are schooled (with the kids' input), and know that needs are different, so validate everyone's choices. Some people who think "I could never homeschool!" might then feel bad that they feel that way and I don't. That's one of those things that I have no control over, and I have no responsibility to fix. It has taken me years to recognize my propensity to want to do this, and longer to stop.

When I was younger, I lied a lot. I assumed until recently that it was to stay out of trouble, but realize now that I think it was mostly to keep people from feeling disappointed in me, and in turn to keep me from having to bear those feelings of disappointment into perpetuity. That might sound like semantics, but it wasn't the punishment that I feared; it was the cycle of feelings. (Case in point: I lied to cops about a vehicle accident because I was less concerned about the repercussions of that than of the disappointment I knew my dad would have that I'd been in yet another likely at-fault collision.)

What's still tiring, though, is that I can feel when the energy in a room changes, and sometimes I'm the only one. It can be an asset... The other day, a few of us were at the HEB Center with our kids riding bikes and playing, and while I was speaking with one mom, I noticed another mom quietly talking to her little boy, who was whining. 

"Does he want to play hide-and-seek with them?" I asked.

"Yes, he's just shy."

I told Mal, "He's playing now, so be sure to look for him, as well." 

The other mom said, "I'm glad you picked up on that!"

I pick up on everything. EVERYTHING. And even when it's productive, like keeping a little kid from feeling left out, just being in touch with everyone's feelings all of the time can be draining.

Last night, I was playing with Mal when Rudy started trying to dig the cat chaser toy out of the closet. I got it out, and Carol became interested... until James started getting up from the dining room table and clearing his dinner dishes. Carol was standing right beside me, but she wouldn't pay attention to the toy; she was focused on James. The cats get very impatient about their breakfast and dinner soft food feeding times, but we'd already done that. Then I noticed that Aish, too, was laser focused on James.

"Are they almost out of dry food?" I called. "They're acting weird."

They were totally out of dry food, which James refilled, and all of the cats went in to get a snack.

When I was little, I could not watch the scene in "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" where Charlie pretends to have found a golden ticket, but really didn't. The disappointment of his grandfather was too much for me. When the movie was on, I'd go to the bathroom or run to my room when that scene approached. I didn't have the emotional bandwidth to process it.

We recently watched the film (James and I; Mal was disinterested), and that scene isn't nearly as fraught as I remembered it being. So maybe I am maturing and learning not to internalize so much. I still can't watch real-live situations where someone is pranked or humiliated or put in an uncomfortable situation. Knowing it's real, knowing that it's not just a set-up and they get the golden ticket in the end and everything turns out okay, I do not like the discomfort and awkwardness that becomes mine in witnessing it.

Since we've been home so much, I've thought about this a lot. And I've had to learn some discipline. Actually, quite recently, I sent a letter to my former neighbors in Sherman. They built their house about two years after we'd moved there, and my dog was used to roaming a bit if I accidentally left the back gate open. I knew that the man did not like my dog, and maybe dogs in general, so I'd call her home again if she'd gotten out and I could hear him shooing her. But now I realize: WHY didn't I just make darn sure the gate was closed? What if she pooped in their yard? What was I thinking? So I sent them a note apologizing for not being a more thoughtful neighbor. I had to. I felt bad, and I needed to acknowledge my mistake.

But I am tempted to reach out in this way for situations that are totally inappropriate. There is someone with whom I was friends in Sherman who genuinely deserves an apology for certain things I did, even though I know I cannot make contact because this person is also not a safe person and dredging up old events would not lead to anything productive. Again, there are some people who have hurt me and at times, I desperately want to say, "What was going on here? I genuinely don't get how this turned out." It doesn't matter; I'm happy, they're happy, and we're not in each other's lives anymore. I just think that carrying feelings into perpetuity, even though they diminish over time, is part of how my emotional life works.

There's an interesting article here about being empathetic without "absorbing" emotions. One of the things it mentioned is not being able to watch violence in movies. When I was in college, a high school friend and I had gone to the movie theater to watch "Silence of the Lambs." I had to walk out and pace the lobby during some of it, repeating to myself, "This is just a movie. It's not real. This isn't really happening." I was so disturbed by the serial killer. I couldn't stay in the room. Then later, I was watching "Casino" with a friend and had to stop it during the scene where Joe Pesci's character is getting brutalized with pool sticks and whatever. It went on SO LONG. I remember sobbing, "We get it! He's getting beat up. Next scene!" Then another time when watching a movie and there's a scene that is played for laughs where this guy is being come onto by a very beautiful older woman, and when he realizes that her husband is watching them, he asks her to stop. She doesn't, and, again, it's supposed to be this really funny scene where he's yelling at her to stop, and finally runs away. She and her husband get a lot of mileage out of it, but I just started bawling. The person I was watching with then assumed that I had been sexually assaulted, which I haven't. But I could not wrap my mind around how someone begging for someone else to stop whatever it is that they're doing is anything other than horrific.

There have also been times that I've written about in this blog when I've just blown up. And they make so much more sense in this context. One of them happened when we were on vacation at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. My mom really wanted a picture of everyone who was there in front of Hogwarts Castle, but it seemed like every time we were in the area, a few of us had gone off on solo adventures. My first mistake was that I took my mom's unfulfilled desire and absorbed the stress of every time it didn't happen, until I couldn't handle the emotions and just yelled at her when she gave me a look of distrust after she'd said she wanted to get a picture down a street in the park that I told her wasn't open yet. I freaking lost it. That was another bad choice, and it caused us to all break up for a few hours because my yelling at her upset my niece, which upset my sister, who then yelled at me about yelling at mom... etc. And the whole thing could have been avoided if I'd understood then that I didn't have to take on someone else's emotion. No one asked me to. It's just natural for me, if I don't pay attention.

I've gotten better at this, though enforcing boundaries for myself comes off as rude, I'm afraid. At Mal's 2nd birthday party, D was very visibly stressed at first (the second half of the party was much better). This was before any anxiety diagnoses, or any real therapy, and this was just how D coped. It wasn't my favorite, but it's what was working for D at the time. My mom hadn't seen D in panic mode, though, was was upset by it. I was trying to focus on Mal's party. When Mom came up to me with tears in her eyes, as though she wanted some kind of explanation or reassurance or something, I just put my hand up and said, "Nope. That's not what we're doing right now." And I desperately don't want to be rude or dismissive of someone else's feelings... it's just that I knew I had a lot going on with party stuff, and didn't have time to process someone else's stuff. It's protective to me and to the people around me, so I don't end up overwhelmed and having a meltdown. 

However, the other day my sister said something that made sense in light of the fact that I was in the middle of thinking about this and writing the blog: I don't know much sign language at all, and can't converse at the depth I'd like to with my brother-in-law and nephew. But I can typically understand what they're saying, even if I can only respond with "Sorry" or "Same" or something like that. She mentioned taking me somewhere when she was in college, and voicing when her Deaf friends would talk in front of me.. They told her, "You don't have to interpret. She understands what I'm saying." And I usually do. I think it's probably a combination of knowing some basic signs, and then the fact that the signer is usually putting so many cues out there that it feels intuitive to me, what they're communicating. It's probably a lot like lip-reading, but backward. (If I ever need to interact with a Deaf or Hard-of-Hearing person in any official capacity, though, I will definitely hire an interpreter, because "mostly understanding" isn't full and clear communication.)

OKAY, BACK TO APRIL 1! And, no, this isn't an April Fool's joke. It just happens not to be December anymore.

Rudy needs dental surgery. He has pretty advanced periodontal disease. Apparently most cats over the age of 3 have at least some, and his is bad. He's almost 12. He might have to have some teeth extracted (one fell out, which is how this came to our attention), as well as a good cleaning of whatever remains, and some x-rays.

D expressed frustration that I don't take Rudy to the vet regularly so this might have been caught before. Honestly, I didn't realize cats needed to get their teeth cleaned. This probably sounds extremely ignorant, and that's literally what it is. However, I've realized that the reason I only take the cats to the doctor when they're sick is less that I'm a medical minimalist (which I am) and more that we all know THE CATS HATE IT. And, guess what? I internalize their anxiety, too, so I'm kind of a wreck. I've been on high-stress mode since Rudy's tooth fell out Sunday. I actually wasn't super worried because Rudy is just so go-with-the-flow and good-natured, but he freaked out in the car. The fact that they set the appointment for the surgery more than six weeks away did not bode well for my coping mechanisms, so I was fortunate to find a different practice that will be able to get him in next week. The exchange is that he has to go in for an office visit first, so they're not planning a surgery blind.

Anyway, this is what happened with Mal's teeth, too. We went in when we HAD to. Maybe we could have avoided it, but I don't think Mal ever would have let a dentist clean his teeth. Ever. I took D to the dentist every six months, because D loved it and it was easy.

I felt no anxiety taking D to get the Covid vaccine, because D wanted it and isn't bothered by needles. Last month when I took Mal to get his immunizations, it was a whole thing, and I had to hold his arms down while he freaked out. I get that that's just being a parent sometimes, but it takes a lot out of me.

(Mal's doctor told me in the past that if I'd bring him in for well checkups more often, he'd get more comfortable with going to the doctor. If getting his hair trimmed, flying in an airplane, or trying new foods are any indication, that is patently not true... he tends to get MORE panicked the more often he does or is exposed to something he doesn't want.)

This would make me feel pretty weak and silly and maybe not responsible enough to take care of children or animals except for one thing: As I've mentioned, my empathetic tendencies are inborn. But for thirteen years, I lived with someone who tapped into that and used it as a way to control me. My life was about not upsetting him, so I could maintain my balance. In that regard, it makes sense that I'd want to avoid feelings of discomfort on behalf of others in order to protect myself. 

Now that I see this about myself, I am going to work on it. I told James that as soon as Rudy's stuff is done next week and we get him healed up, I'll schedule annual check-ups for the other cats. They've both been to the doctor with issues in the past couple of years, and so if they had teeth or any other areas of concern, we would have been told. It's baby steps, but it's a start, right? 

A Contemplative Independence Day

Last night, I had this thought that I might make some sugar cookies. Just plain ones, but color half of the dough red and half blue, then make round cookies and ice the red ones with white stripes and the blue ones with white stars.

Today, between running errands and making a pretty sous-chef-y dinner, I wasn't that motivated... plus, when we were out, Mal wanted to get doughnuts, so we have dessert already.

Saturday, when Mal and I were at the Home Depot, I thought about buying an American flag... but didn't.

I'm very wary of overt shows of "patriotism" right now. Does that make sense?

I've only felt this way one other time, and it was in the wake of September 11, 2001. I was singing at church the weekend after the attacks, and when we arrived Saturday afternoon for rehearsal before the night service, we were told that we were going to sing "God Bless America." I balked.

It's not that I don't want God's blessings. It's not that I didn't want to comfort scared people, many of whom would be coming to a house of worship for the first time in a long time because they didn't know what else to do.

It was because, in addition to the extreme grief and shock and fear I'd witnessed Americans experiencing, there was also a lot of sort of anger-fueled nationalism, and I didn't want to give the impression that I was asking God to bless America... instead of the nations of "those" people who attacked us. I didn't want it to seem that we were circling the wagons. And that's what "patriotism" (not the spirit, but the displays) felt like to me in that moment.

And now.

Now... I am separated by only one or two or three degrees from people whose lives are being adversely affected by the climate and policies of our country. I can stop scanning news stories all I want to, but I still hear personal stories. I feel splayed open and raw, unable to really do anything for anyone in distress except maybe not act so damned proud that I had the stupid luck of being born here, white, middle class, descended from a mighty people whose weapons and lies "won" this very land where I'm beginning to own a home from people who were already here.

This weekend, I heard a prayer thanking God for "this land You have given us." Did He? Did God decide that we were destined for it, and therefore it was okay to kill "savages" and make countless bad faith treaties with them?

Which is not to say that I'm not grateful... I'm grateful for freedom, even as I recognize that many people do not have it. I'm grateful for comfort, though I know many need and cannot access it. I am grateful for my family, but read through tears story after story of parents and children separated and sent back into dangerous places... just because they had the misfortune of not being born here. White. Middle class.

I have never been oppressed. Maybe I feel like a fraud celebrating freedom, as if I came to it out of something else.

So tomorrow, I will cherish spending time with my family. I look forward to eating some good food and maybe catching up with my sister. I will get to hang out with my husband more because it's a holiday right in the middle of the work-week. And I'll celebrate the freedom that this country affords as best I can, shadowed by the humbling awareness that I've done nothing more or better than anyone else to deserve it.

This evening, I pulled Mal out of bed to watch some fireworks over the trees, because he has been tempted to be scared of the noise every night this weekend. It was beautiful. It was sweet. That is something to celebrate.

And maybe tomorrow I'll do what I also did tonight, holding my growing son tightly on my knees so he wouldn't fall off of the picnic table as he covered his ears: Pray for the refugees, the immigrants, the prisoners, and all of their families, that every one of them might soon be reunited and able to cherish such sweet, tiny moments.

A Letter to Parents of Transgender Kids

Hey, friends.

Well, here we are in 2017 and I'm having a difficult time believing that anyone thinks that somehow we cis-majority need actual legal protection against your trans kid, but it's happening. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. And I was prompted to write you this letter because I can only imagine that the ambiance around here is getting a little overwhelming.

For whatever reason, any time transgender issues arise in the public eye, this blog post makes the rounds. I first read it a couple of years ago, and every time I've seen it since, it's left a more and more sour taste in my stomach. Today, I'm literally physically ill and I can't shake it. So I had to reach out to you and let you know... I see you. I see your family. I see how you love your child and know your child and want your child to be healthy. I appreciate you. I'm glad you are your child's parent. God knew what he was doing, giving your child to you and not to someone else. I am sure it's been very very difficult. I'm sure it will continue to be so. You might not feel it all of the time, but you're doing this right by your child. Thank you.

To address the blog post specifically, there are two things I want to point out. Well, backing up, she links to a video about Ryland Whittington, but I'm not sure she even watched it because one viewing shows that her experience was nothing like Ryland's, and nothing like your experience with your child.

Okay, so first, she says something to the extent of "her parents decided to go out and buy her a bunch of boy's clothes and let her cut her hair." Actually, they took her to the doctor because they were concerned. I've learned, as I know you have, that doctors have very specific criteria in pinpointing transgenderism: insistent, consistent, persistent declarations by a person that they are, in fact, a different gender than what their body would seem to indicate.

I have never had to look at doctor in the eye and be told "You can either have a happy son or a dead daughter," but you might have.

Might I, just for a moment, apologize for and kind of offer a partial excuse for those of us who might currently be tempted or in the past have been tempted to dismiss transgenderism as not an actual "thing"? Our access to information is unfettered. There is so much to process and so much with which to deal, very often, I think we just shut down. We don't feel like we have excess emotional energy to process anything beyond what is necessary to live our lives. So rather than do the difficult self-work of coming to an understanding of things that might not come as second nature to us, we put up a wall. I'm not saying that's okay, but I think that's why a lot of us want to shut down. "Racism isn't a thing." "No one is transgender; they're just fooling themselves." It takes a lot of work to really look at something for the first time, to try to empathize... and I think a lot of us are just exhausted. I don't think most people are hateful, or trying to be hateful. I'm sorry that you've been hurt by our carelessness and unwillingness to truly listen to your story.

Back to the doctor... I hope your child doesn't struggle with depression or suicidal thoughts. Although it's true that 40% of transgender people have reported attempting to kill themselves, acceptance by family and community reduce that risk by 80%. So what you're doing, no matter how anyone else sees it, might just be keeping your kid alive. If nothing else, I'd think that's one thing every one of us who is a parent can understand.

An actual sign that my actual friend's actual transgender son made months ago and had taped to the ceiling above his bed...
To remind himself daily to live, to stay around, and that his presence on this earth is important.

Another way I think the author of that blog misrepresents the parents' role in transitioning is that she makes it sound like the parents couldn't be more eager to cross-dress their little one. From everything I've heard, the parents are usually pretty sluggish in coming to the awareness of the reality of their child's situation. In fact, you might feel guilty that you held out as long as you did. Please don't. As parents, in every facet of our kids' lives, we do the best we can... and when we know better, we do better.

The second issue I take with the blogger's story is that, no, she would not currently be labeled as transgender. No one is labeled transgender because as a girl they "pop the heads off of doves" (sorry, but that's what she said) or as a boy because he likes sparkly shoes (my boy likes sparkly shoes, but also insists that he's a boy, like his daddy). Again, it's "consistent, persistent, insistent." There's a difference between a 2-year-old boy wanting sequins on a shirt and in one trying to cut off his penis, and even if other people can't be bothered by this distinction, it seems huge to me.

Lest you think I'm engaging in histrionics, we know a family in which the above-mentioned scenario happened. It wasn't just a boy identifying with more feminine traits, or saying, "I want to be a girl." He insisted from a very young age that he WAS a girl. This was probably two decades ago, and I'm guessing that most therapy models at that time were to the tune of, "No, you're not. Stop it." I'm so glad that your child was born into this world, where people understand more and our science is advanced enough that we can see differences in the hormone levels and brain compositions of transgender people. From what I know, this boy did not have what most of us would consider a "successful" childhood. I weep for him and his adoptive family. I wish it could have gone differently.

Friends, I also want to apologize on behalf of "the church" at large. Over time, many church bodies have come to realize that we can't call ourselves Christians if we marginalize people, and have begun to open their arms and hearts to the LGBT community. But, for the most part, we've often been on the wrong side of history in this regard. I have several friends whose Christian acquaintances, upon learning that the parent is going to support their transgender child, have told them (or their child), "You're a *whatever you were assigned at birth*. God doesn't make mistakes."

Your child and his or her expression of his- or herself isn't a mistake.  It's not typical, numbers-wise, but it's not like some cosmic mix-up led to this. It's not like your parenting made this happen, or some trauma influenced your child. Your child is exactly who they are supposed to be, and, unfortunately, that means they are going to have more than the average number of challenges in their life.

It is for this reason, as a fellow parent and as someone who believes in a God about whom it is written, "a bruised reed he will not break, and a smouldering wick he will not extinguish," that I am reaching out with my love and support.

I'm not sure why others are so intimidated and opposed to the way your child is, the way they want to live their life. We recognize the factual existence of intersex people (formerly known as "hermaphrodites"). How do we know what gender they are "supposed" to be unless they tell us? Parents used to pick for their babies, with disastrous results. If we can acknowledge that people with ambiguous genitalia inherently know their gender, it's not too far a leap to be able to grasp that sex organs and gender actually develop at a different time, and in different places. So, yeah, most of us "match up." Your kid doesn't. I don't see why that makes him a threat, though. I am so sorry they are treated as such by some.

Being a parent is hard enough without extra worries heaped up on it. Statistically, transgender people are more likely to be victims of physical assault than the general population, especially those who are male-to-female. But I don't have to tell you that. You are well aware, and your fears for your child go so far beyond the typical parental fears. Any time they move, will they be accepted or victimized? What if they are just minding their own business and encounter the wrong kind of people? Will they be the target of hate? And you want your child to be happy, to be healthy, to be fulfilled... but you also wish it could be so without the potential for damage. So please know that if I'm ever out and see your child being bullied or disparaged, I will step in. I will do whatever I can to help them navigate away from danger. I will use my voice and influence to support your child's right to be safe every bit as much as I will fight for my own children's safety. And I can't do anything about trolls, but I will cry a little bit and say a prayer when someone calls your MTF child "ugly" online and suggests that you stop playing into their psychoses. I wish I could make them all go away. I don't understand why people have to tear down other people. I'm saddened and aggrieved by it.

Most of us have been the recipients of unsolicited advice, parenting or otherwise, and we hate it. Kid has allergies? Husband has cancer? Unhappy with your job? Baby won't sleep at night? "All you have to do..." Fill in the blank. Essential oils, positive attitude, be consistent, look up, stay away from gluten. Etc. People extrapolate from their own experiences, assuming that their "what works" applies evenly across the population. I will tell you: Once on a road trip, I stopped in at a Hardee's in West Memphis, and I was the only white person in the restaurant. I felt extremely awkward. But I'm not about to write an essay about what it's like to be a minority. That's disrespectful and condescending, and I wish everyone on earth would commit to avoiding "all you have to do"s with every fiber of their being. May you tune a deaf heart to the words pouring in at you, demanding that you deal with your child in a way that someone who has no idea what your life is like is telling you. 

You love your child more than anyone else does. You know your child better than anyone else does. That they trust you, that they open up to you about who they believe themselves to be, and that they know they can count on you to advocate for them, to do the research, to pay people money to help them (because I know a lot of what you're doing is probably not covered by insurance)... You're doing what any parent would do for their own kid, and it is my sincere hope that soon, more and more people will realize this, and stop being scared of something they don't understand so that they can actually do the work of trying to understand. There is so much common ground here. You are not the enemy, and neither is your child. If anyone feels adversarial, then they are the enemy, and the enemy is them.

One other thing: I know that probably the last thing you planned was to become a social justice activist. Thank you for rising to that occasion, though. I'm sure if your child could live her life just under the radar, that's how you'd all prefer it. But it seems like this is not the time for that, doesn't it? By being visible and being relatable, you're "normalizing" your family's situation. Some would bemoan this. I don't. Things hidden in the dark have a devastating power. Some kids think they are alone. Some families are ashamed. So many fear rejection by those who love them and by the society in which they are to live. Your fight to protect your children's rights is changing the world for so many other people. In as much as I can, I will stand beside you. I admire you. I support you. I am here for you.

I guess that's it. I wish I could wave a wand and make it easier. I wish you didn't have to have your child diagnosed with a mental disorder to have treatment covered by insurance. I wish more people would do more research before having an opinion at all, much less a vocal one. And I pray that when you and your child venture out into the world that you are met with grace rather than condemnation, acceptance rather than rejection, support rather than antagonism, and love rather than the myriad of misunderstandings and misinformation that can lead to what feels so much like hate.

Cooler heads, prevail!

Friday, I had a lot of friends who were jubilant and a lot of friends who were miserable. Saturday, I had a lot of friends who were jubilant and a lot of friends who were irritated and perplexed. As for me, I have a lot of hope. I have a lot of opinions, but I have even more hope.

I, too, have been a bit disenfranchised, as I'm sure most of us have been, over the past, really, year's social climate. In just the past week, I've seen people I care about and admire called names on social media and by "news" outlets... and I just really want us to do better.

Believe me, I get that knee-jerk stomach punch feeling that comes when someone says something that goes against what I know to be right or true. And while I'm not willing to say that there's no such thing as absolute truth, I will say that there are many things we want to insist are inarguably one way or another when that just isn't the case.

Or, in their words, "There's room for everyone in this world, so everyone make some room."

I can't do anything about the news outlets, except recommending that you just stay away from the more biased sources, whether they oppose your viewpoint and piss you off or affirm your beliefs and make you smug and unwilling to keep an open mind.

Maybe use this nifty graphic from this website as a guide, committing to reading/consuming the publications toward the middle and top of this picture.

Now, I'm going to make a commitment to you, and I hope you can extend the same courtesy to me, and, really to everyone else who might not agree with you:

1) I will not assume that the beliefs you hold are because you are *something*: ignorant, racist, sheep, liberal crybaby, baby murderer, misogynistic, not a patriot, (and, if you're a Christian: watering down the gospel to make it palatable, trapped in legalism, weak faith, not really a believer), etc. unless you do something I can point to and tell you to your face. I've seen so many people talk about how "the other side" doesn't value freedom or how they're just mindless drones doing what actors tell them, or how they're hell-bent on keeping women pregnant and in the kitchen. I don't think these caricatures are broadly applicable, and gross generalizations and insults weaken a person's argument (stance, not necessarily "fight").

Even if I disagree with you, I'm going to assume that you came to your conclusions based on a mix of your experience, research, and thought. If you want me to explain what I think or believe, I'm glad to talk about it, and I'm glad to hear your side. I do not assume that, given enough of *my* special information that you'll change your mind and see your way to the "correct" side, and I hope you don't think that about the information you give me.

However, I will say that one of my best friends over the past 20 years is someone who has been, at various times, on the polar opposite side of most political issues from me (although, over time, we've both moved more center and have, in fact, reversed sides on some things), and through our relationship and talking, I've seen a different side of things than what I believed, and I've changed my thoughts on a lot of things. That's not always comfortable, but I think we have to be open to that.

Otherwise, you're just one person talking at someone else, and that conversation's not going to last very long, because it's not fun to be yelled at and not heard.

2) If I disagree with you enough that I feel I need to bring it up, I will have actual facts to back up any arguments, however impassioned. However, know that I probably won't bring it up. Honestly, I have enough on my plate to pick a tiff with anyone else.

3) I will not presume to understand the way that "all" Democrats, Libertarians, Republicans, Independents, anarchists, Christians, atheists, black people, poor people, teenagers, Muslims, pro-choicers, 2nd Amendment activists, etc. must think. I will not assign to you a morality or ethic that you do not personally hold. I will respect you as an individual.

4) I will seek information and listen to people outside of my "echo chamber." I will seek to be empathetic. I will try to see it from someone else's point of view. I am currently in a personal struggle with where to land on a certain political stance, and I'm not going into it here because it would become "the" thing, and it's not what this post is about, but let's just say that I spent about 21/22 of my life "knowing" the right answer, but people I really admire have helped me see another side. I still think that what I believed is *mostly* right, but not "zero tolerance" right anymore. I want to be willing to examine with honesty and openness any issue that is important to the human race. I might not change my mind, but I might. I will fight my own bent to stay soft here.

I think I just ran out of steam. Plus, I have to empty the litter boxes to get the trash out this afternoon, because my life is glamorous. Anyway, can we be nice to each other? Can we remember that he IS your President, if you're a citizen of the US? Can we remember that protests aren't the same thing as riots, and that a LOT of really positive change has happened in our country's history because of people marching for things they believe in? Can we all hold these impassioned beliefs and not let it rip us apart?

Peace out. Scoop time.