I Once Was Blind, But Now I See

One thing I always like to ask people as I’m getting to know them is their favorite word. You can tell a lot about someone from that one preference and though it may change over time, usually it speaks to their deepest values. Years ago it was discipline, and before that it was valor. A year ago it was fortitude, but today it is more unassuming — grace. It’s a simple word and yet laden with meaning, both divine and mundane and at once elegant and humble. In both English and Arabic (نعمة), the only languages in which I am completely (or for that matter, even remotely) fluent, it transmits its complete essence in the imagery and emotions it evokes.

I am routinely amazed by the volatility of the human heart and how easily we suborn the better angels of our nature to the whims of ego and ignorance. Often as I am bowed in supplication or reclined, lost in thought, the mists of daily minutiae give way to weighty reflections on purpose, resolve and right action. Whether it is to eat better, sleep more, study harder or to be kinder, more generous, more patient, all too often we claim a resolve that crumbles in the face of ignorance, laziness or worst of all — habit. What use is it to take an oath of righteousness when our capacity for commitment is so abysmal?

It is disappointing how easily we revert to type when our mettle is tested, or even worse, under no duress at all. We can be needlessly cruel, aggressive, insensitive, brusque, dismissive and uncharitable when guided by our base instincts, even as, collectively, we have a capacity for boundless compassion. In my rumination (or perhaps more accurately, lamentation) on purpose, I’ve taken to segmenting the human experience along four dimensions: physical, emotional, spiritual, and intellectual. Fulfilling the human experience as a whole requires fulfilling those four dimensions individually, and though I could write at length about each one, my focus here is on the emotional dimension, which brings me back to the workman like idea of grace. Having examined its essence through every lens I can think of for months on end, I’ve come to the conclusion that there can be no emotional fulfillment (at least not in depth) without a commitment to acts of grace.

Acts of grace are usually considered the realm of the divine, and yet I believe that each of us has a well of grace upon which we can draw that is defined by a generosity of spirit. Too many times have I acted out of anger, spite, jealousy or arrogance when all I had to do was stop and think and choose another path. Each instance was one too many and yet with each time I commit to being more mindful I find that down the road I am back where I started, even if I managed to maintain my resolve through the next instance or two. When things are going well, we can get carried away with our success and good fortune and become so wrapped up in our lives that we forget to listen to the stories of others all around us. It takes being called out to realize how our egos have turned us blind and deaf.

At times I consoled myself with the thought that the frailty of the human mind demands that all other things fall into the background as we attempt to cope with daily hardships. And yet I have also noticed that with increased hardship comes increased awareness and so I wonder if there is any merit to that idea at all. I have always nursed an almost clinical sensitivity to the feelings of others, and although I can usually only detect them when I am looking for them, I am always amazed at the depth and complexity of the torrents of emotion that roll off of people (well…most people). All these feelings have their unique flavors, scents and textures, their own densities and colors and degrees of purity. Some feel like water, flowing between your fingers, others are like a thick smog, suffocating in their intensity. Some are like shadows, elusive and lurking in the corner of my vision, and others are like the sun, turning blackest night into brightest day. I can sense the heat of passion, the coarseness of indifference and the earthy scent of loneliness and so much more besides.

I will admit my affinity is somewhat for the darker emotions but that is precisely what leads me to lament my failures despite this gift. What is so difficult about a kindly smile for a rambling old man hungry for companionship, or an unruly child craving attention? What is so wrong with a moment of patience for a desperate vagrant or a passionate youth promoting the cause nearest to their heart? Is it impossible to forgive those who’ve hurt us, intentionally and through no fault of their own? To mend past friendships broken over pettiness? And if I know all this, why do I fail time and time again? Are we really such creatures of habit that it becomes ingrained?

So let us command the discipline to pause and think, to bolster our generosity of spirit and to shower each other with a pale imitation of the grace for which we kneel at the altar and pray. Or are our egos truly of such herculean proportions as to be untamable?

I’d like to think otherwise.