TOO UNHAPPY TO BE KIND

The poet A.E.Housman  is usually associated with World War I and Shropshire, but he also wrote a moving poem about Londoners, in which he said:

“The mortal sickness of a mind

Too unhappy to be kind.
Undone with misery, all they can
Is to hate their fellow man;
And till they drop they needs must still
Look at you and wish you ill.” [1]

Anyone who has studied the faces on city streets has seen what Housman did—busy, tense people who ignore others or are rude to them. New Yorkers and other large-city dwellers, particularly, are inclined to treat others with brusqueness or actual unkindness, probably because they are dealing with stressful city life themselves. (However, in disasters or even minor difficulties, they can be surprisingly helpful. It seems to be everyday life that makes them miserable.)

Small towns and rural areas are not free from the phenomenon, either. When I shop in the local supermarket, I see shoppers who look tense and tired. They may treat clerks or other shoppers with discourtesy. It is rare to see someone who looks relaxed and happy.

The main insight I gained years ago in group therapy is that we have common troubles. We are not really alone when we feel lonely or mistreated; others are facing similar worries. Sometimes, as in group therapy, sharing our feelings with others can help greatly. Even if we keep our anxieties to ourselves, though, remembering our commonality is useful. Being understanding can also come easier with age. When we have passed through various sorrows ourselves, we can recognize the signs in others. Of course, the problems of aging can also make us more inclined to self-pity.

My friend Ruth (who has plenty of her own problems) uses the signature line, “Be kind. Everyone you meet is struggling with something.” What a simple, powerful idea! The barista who overfills the coffee cup may have a husband in Afghanistan; the jerk who cuts you off in traffic may have just lost his job; the woman who is dressed rather bizarrely may have just been released from a hospital. Knowing the whole story may explain much. For instance, just the other day, the RV near us in an otherwise silent campground had a noisy generator running for hours. We were on the verge of complaining when we learned that the owner must use an electronic medical device at night requiring a fully charged battery. What a narrow escape we had from being cruel!

 

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[1] Housman. A.E. 1896. In my own shire, if I was sad. From A Shropshire Lad. Avon Publishing, Inc.

WHO ARE THE KARDASHIANS, ANYWAY?

Waiting in the checkout lane at a supermarket, I glance at the magazines with their photos of glamorous celebrities. Or worse, photos of celebrities the paparazzi have caught drunk or obese. Who are all these people, and why should anyone care about them?

Long ago, I cared. Back in the 1950s I knew all the movie stars who were in Photoplay and other magazines. The term au courant was not yet in my vocabulary, but the idea was already entrenched. Most teenagers knew that June Allyson had a dusty pink bedroom and was married to Dick Powell, had a crush on Stewart Granger after seeing King Solomon’s Mines, and looked enviously at Jeanne Crain’s pencil sketches. No detail about the stars was unimportant to us high school girls.

For an impressionable young girl living far from city lights, fascination with celebrities is understandable. But, that was long ago, and in college I was exposed to live theater, classical music, and philosophy. The world suddenly seemed much larger and better than it had looked in glossy magazines.

Old people are often urged to “think young,” to “keep up with the times,” and so on. Isn’t it better for us to provide a link to the past? We have a perspective that is impossible for the young. My mother, who was born in 1908, forecast the current recession years ago, because she saw the similarities to the Roaring Twenties and to the Depression. I remember World War II and the postwar years, and can contrast that time with the present.

From our own aging viewpoint, we may be happier and more fulfilled if we spend time with the important books and music of the past than if we try to understand current ones. I would rather read a novel by Austen or Dickens than by most modern writers, rather listen to Tchaikovsky or Gershwin than to Philip Glass. Some modem writers and composers are excellent, of course; I enjoy reading anything by Simon Winchester, and am captivated by Animusic. In the end, however, I go back to old favorites.

Most of all, though, I want to catch up with important things that have been postponed too long, especially regarding our natural environment. Just in the past few years, for instance, I have begun truly experiencing the national parks and realizing their importance. About 100 years ago the poet A.E. Housman wrote that “And since to look at things in bloom, Fifty springs are little room, About the woodlands I will go, To see the cherry hung with snow.” I have far fewer than 50 springs remaining, but will make the most of them.