Brother
As the train neared the station one of the gentlemen in the two, two-seater train seats that face one another stood and began to shuffle his things together. As he maneuvered his way past the other man, a perfect stranger, he said to him “take care, my brother.” I had been mulling over this way to address one another since I heard the same phrase on a different train earlier in the week. A disheveled person who seemed to have trouble standing was denied seating close to where he entered and after wading through the passengers in the train car, found a seat next to an older man. As he sat down next to him he said “thank you, my brother.”
I think a lot about how New York City has affected my sense of self, my mannerisms, what I come to expect, and how I think about my fellow human. As someone who has dealt with some more insipid traumas in the past and thusly has very little trust for most people, I spend a lot of time feeling very small and very afraid in a city like this. Whether it’s because aggression at home was never ever demonstrated or tolerated unless it was an overreaction from my mother, or what I was taught in my Catholic catechism classes about politeness. I rarely feel compelled to assert myself and so in a city that only asserts itself, I can feel very helpless.
We saw a production of Urine Town, a parody musical about eco terrorism and capitalism and revolution with a classic ingenue who is good and pure and sings about how every person has a heart and thusly she is unafraid. I like that idea, that because people are inherently human we can appeal to one another even in our darkest hours, but I don’t know how to necessarily put that into practice in a way that doesn’t leave me up a creek without a paddle.
In a place where trying to see the good in people feels like exposing a crack in our self-installed security systems, how do we manage to recognize ourselves in one another? I don’t know, but I think part of it is letting in the good things. I feel like I deflect a lot of negativity throughout the day, but sometimes I throw the baby out with the bathwater. I think processing the good things is important. and processing the bad things only really seems to help when the thing is really really bad.
When I was growing up I was lucky enough to take part in some nurturing leadership programs for young women. One of the practitioners, Leanne, who is still a mentor of mine today used to always greet us and remind us that she sees us for who we are and for the people we can be. “I see you,” she would say, looking you right in the eye. Our brothers, sisters, and siblings are to be seen, and to know they are seen. So we tell them who they are to us, or at least some people do. Moments like those I witnessed on the train are little fires warming this cold city, reminding us we are not invisible
