Bumping Into Each Other With Compassion

Remember those bumper cars?

Sometimes, we are like those bumper cars when our separate realities innocently collide.

Or, we have a dynamic pattern with the people we are closest to—like parents, siblings, partners, and friends—and we bump into each other almost intentionally within the framework of our dynamic.

The stories we tell ourselves have a great impact on the lens through which we view the world, and this shapes our version of reality. Because most of us forget that our reality is unique to us, and based on our perceived experiences, we act as though it is real and true for everyone. (When I’m in a moment, I can forget too.)

It’s those hurts that have a repeated pattern, one on top of another that build, hurt by hurt, layer by layer, until our heart is shrouded in a protective wall. Every once in awhile, like a bumper car, someone innocently taps you—not to hurt you but to trigger that wound and break through the barrier around your heart. Then, if you are aware, you have the opportunity to revisit the wound that is triggered and with self- compassion allow some of those feelings to break you open.

Your mind will look for validating evidence of whatever you believe to be true.

And, of the myriad of possibilities that might be—there is only one reality that you see in any given moment and that is the one that supports the story that you tell yourself.

I bumped innocently into a woman’s walled heart a few days before Christmas, just five days after Richard’s death. I had made my way to Nordstrom to pick up a few things for the girls’ stockings. I stopped at the café and was standing in line as the dense holiday crowds bustled as usual. As I moved forward in the line my mind was completely removed with thoughts of “I can’t believe this has happened—how am I going to do this? Just a few days ago, Richard was alive, and now he’s gone.” I had never felt so emotionally in shock and numb before; I had never felt so out of my body.

My daze was broken by a sharp voice almost too deep to be feminine—too angry to be soft. A very petite, four-feet eight-inch small but mighty woman wearing eye glasses and sharp cut hair pulled back in a headband, khakis, and brown leather loafers was saying something to me, “Excuse me, excuse me… I’m in line here and you’re cutting me.” I had drifted over to the left and slightly off her shoulder, and I turned to meet her eyes. Looking down at her, I shuffled behind her quickly and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.” In pure disgust she gasped in frustration and continued on and read me the riot act about being pushy and aggressive and how I should be watching myself in line this time of year. (I had clearly and very innocently hit her trigger of being invisible because of her size.) And I replied, with tears bursting from my eyes, I blurted, “I didn’t see you because my husband died a few days ago, not because you are a small person, and I probably shouldn’t be here, but I want to get some gifts for my girls.”

It was an awkward moment, and the woman stared back shaking her head, trying to understand what I had just said, maybe even attempting to soften, but she didn’t soften much as she replied curtly, “Oh, now, I suppose I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?”

In that moment, even though I was consumed with my own pain, I couldn’t miss that she was so wounded that she couldn’t access her heart and feelings of compassion. I wondered if I had ever been so insensitive to another person–so completely out of line to say something so mean at an obvious raw time. I surely hope not.

And, I repeated, “I’m sorry I stepped ahead of you. I’m sorry for your pain.” And she appeared less annoyed as she said, in a matter-of-fact, slightly spiteful tone, “I lost my older brother a few years back. I know it hurts really bad. In time, you’ll learn to live with it. Have a nice day.” She walked away without even a glance back.

I felt bruised as that bumped my reality a bit, too. I silently murmured, “Have a nice day? Did she really say that?”

I often wonder how that experience impacted her, if at all, but clearly her lens was so foggy with defensiveness about “not being seen” that she appeared to me to miss the opportunity of insight. Isn’t that ironic—to miss the opportunity of insight to see where she was triggered about feeling unseen?

We are triggered and bumped to pierce the wall around a heart to feel, to heal, and to become more connected to compassion—both for ourselves and others.

This experience taught me to have full compassion for the people around me and realize that people are often innocently experiencing their own reality. I should not take their seemingly rude actions too personally. I don’t know what someone might be dealing with and going through, and I see most things like this as innocent mistakes rather than malicious intent to do harm.

Compassion is one of those things that comes with passion to heal another of the thing that has hurt you the most. Once the heart is broken open to feel compassion, then you are on your way to living your most vibrant life.