Friday, December 16, 2011

Everything I Know About Compassion I Learned on the Playground

"Waaaaah!"
"C'm'ere honey, and show me where it hurts. Let me kiss it and make it all better."

Compassion is as easy as kissing a boo-boo.
Compassion is seeing the teary face of a little kid with a scrape or a bump, and wanting to soothe the pain.
Compassion is seeing the look of shock and confusion in the face of a child who took a header off the slide, and wanting to calm the fear, slow the racing heartbeat, and reassure the child that it's going to be okay.

I just read an article that defines compassion (via Wikipedia) as "an emotion that is a sense of shared suffering, most often combined with a desire to alleviate or reduce the suffering of another; to show special kindness to those who suffer. Compassion essentially arises through empathy, and is often characterized through actions, wherein a person acting with compassion will seek to aid those they feel compassionate for."

That was news to me. I had never thought about compassion in that specific way before; I had always thought of compassion in terms of empathy and lovingkindness, but my descriptive words would have been "caring," "protection," "comfort," and "nurturance." Other words that made sense were "maternal" or "parental," or "unconditional love." It never occurred to me that the urge to kiss the boo-boo of a bawling toddler is all about easing suffering. When I was in the playground I had not yet heard of the Four Noble Truths or made any connection to the idea that sadness, pain, fear, loneliness, or confusion are all synonymic with—or more accurately, members of the greater set of—suffering.

I always concentrated on the make-you-feel-better aspect, the I-love-you-with-all-my-heart part, and not the what-is-going-on-with-the-other-person-that-makes-me-want-to-help part. I thought it was sort of an instinctual reaction, just as a new mother, on hearing another baby's cries, will automatically start lactating.

That's the little confusion I'm having now. I've never had to work at compassion; it's always just been there. I remember clearly that on my first day of third grade in a brand new school, I felt lost and anxious for about four minutes—until I saw a little girl who looked even more lost and anxious than me. Immediately I forgot all about my own worries, because my every thought was to comfort her. I practically ran to her side, and stayed with her the whole morning until she got herself squared away. (What a great lesson for how to alleviate your own suffering: alleviate someone else's, and yours goes away at the same time. Simple!)

But if it comes so naturally, I can't imagine I'm doing it right. I've read articles and books on becoming a compassionate person, and the lessons feel too easy. Okay, the part about feeling compassion for the people who get my goat is a little less than a piece of cake, but it's still doable. There's always a part in every sentient being that I can find to love if I look hard enough. I may not have found it yet in the evil real estate developers and war criminals of this world, but I don't doubt that it's there. It may be buried fathoms deep, but it's there.

I got that lesson the very first time I saw Peter Pan, at the end when Captain Hook was rowing away, pursued by the ticking crocodile. I felt empathy for him. Yes, he was a bad guy, but I still felt his fear and I had the sensation of compassion. It wasn't feeling sorry for him exactly, it was that understanding of how he felt at that moment. I didn't have that triumph-against-the-evil-dude,  nyaa-nyaa-it-sucks-to-be-you feeling, but instead felt a feeling of sadness and concern on his behalf.

Yeah, I had these understandings when I was a little kid. What can I tell you? I was precocious. I was the kid who (at the part of How the Grinch Stole Christmas when the Grinch's heart expands and he decides to return all the stolen Christmas presents to Whoville), when I was moved to tears for the first time in my life, burst in on my mom (who was in the middle of taking a bath) to point to my face and say, "Look, Mom! Tears of joy!"