Where'd All The Good People Go?

A few weeks ago, I read a disturbing article. Nearly two-thirds of Americans are on some form of anti-depressant. Anxiety is at an all-time high. Nearly 30,000 Americans committed suicide in 2012 alone. I think the point of the article was to demonstrate America's dependency on pharmaceutical companies, but what I took away from it is that we are all walking around like open wounds, hurt, confused, terrified, and desperate for some form of escape from an increasingly violent reality.

I don't know about anyone else, but ever since 9/11, I find it nearly impossible to relax on an airplane. Ever since the 2007 London Bus bombings, I'm weary of city buses. Ever since Aurora, I've kept one eye on the exit every time I'm in a movie theater. And ever since Newtown, I have hated dropping my kids off at school every morning, wondering if that day will be their last.

And now Boston.

I would like to make it clear that I realize that violence, terrorism, and senseless tragedy is an every day occurance in other countries. Many people's first reaction to events like yesterday is "This happens all the time, all around the world and no one cares, so what's the big deal?" and honestly, this is a horrible reaction. Fighting apathy with apathy is pointless. The fact that violence occurs other places doesn't take away from what happened in Boston. If anything, it's a reminder that we all live on this crazy, messed up planet together and we should empathize with everyone who is a victim of violence, whether it occurs in your hometown or thousands of miles away. Have a heart. Show some compassion.

Speaking of compassion, in situations like this I have noticed two kinds of people: The good and the parasitical. The bad people are not just the obvious characters like the bomber(s) but the people who try to take advantage of an already horrible situation by creating fake Twitter accounts to "accept donations" for victims or to spread false reports or conspiracy theories.Why create chaos out of chaos? It's beyond me. People like this are not only showing a complete and utter lack of respect for victims and families, but for the human race in general. But I don't want to focus too much on the bad people. They don't deserve the attention.

The good are the best kind of people out there, the amazing first responders who ran towards the smoke and flames, into the chaos, intent on staying calm and saving lives while everyone else froze. The good are the marathon runners who kept running past the finish line, straight to hospitals to donate blood. The good are the spectators who, though injured themselves, helped others to safety. One of the best things in life is being pleasantly surprised by the kindness and humanity people are capable of expressing. Maybe it doesn't make everyone feel safer on an airplane or worry less about sending their kids to school every day, but in some small way, it's reassuring to think that there are people who are willing to put their lives on the line for the sake of someone else. That in the worst of situations, you can find the best in people and it doesn't get much better than that.

I'm only one person, a couple of thousand miles away from Boston, but I wish it was physically possible to hug the whole city right now and to let them know that people across the country are standing with them.We care about you, Boston, all the way from Albuquerque, and everywhere in between. 

If anyone is interested in helping, please check out the American Red Cross or my personal favorite good-doers Humans Helping Humans . Don't hang your head in fear, be proactive and help the world carry on. Hug your families, be grateful for what you have. Talk to your friends who are going through a hard time and don't be afraid to talk to someone about your own hard time. And turn off the TV every once in awhile. The bad news will still be there when you come back.

Most importantly, remember the helpers. See the good in life, humanity, and each other, no matter how desperate it feels. The good people haven't gone anywhere. You just have to look a little harder to find them.

Tom Hanks Is Great In An Airport

Airports are strange places. Every time I'm in one, I find myself waiting impatiently for Tom Hanks to leap over the turnstile, dash straight past the lone security guard (who delivers the limp, half-hearted, "Hey, you! Come back here!"), and beg me not to go (Where? I don't know. Why? I don't know). It has yet to happen, and because of a heightened level of security post 9/11 and a non-existent level of Tom Hanks in my life, it probably never will. Not to mention the fact that Tom and I are both happily married to other people and this is a situation that really only exists in Nora Ephron movies. Sadly.

Despite their obvious lack of Tom Hanks and general sense of inconvenience, airports are one of the best places for people-watching, mostly because they tend to bring out the absolute worst in people. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the recycled air, the TSA pat-downs, the nagging fear of accidentally leaving your bag unattended. Whatever the reason, tensions run tend to run high, making for some quality entertainment. And last week, when I found myself there to pick up my in-laws, was no exception. 

While waiting I overheard (read: eavesdropped on) a conversation between a mother and her daughter, who was to my best approximation, about thirteen or fourteen. From what I could gather, the mom was the one who was about to fly, but her flight was delayed so she was hanging out with her family outside the security checkpoint while she waited. The girl spent most of her time texting, her thumbs a wild blur, and looking like she'd rather be anywhere in the world than at the airport with her mother. For awhile, they weren't terribly interesting to watch. Then the mom decided to drop a bomb, in a conversation that went a little something like this:

Dad: "Oh look, your flight's boarding."
Mom: "Great" (turning to her daughter) "By the way, I'm chaperoning your trip in May. I signed up last week."
Daughter: "Mom, no. Mom. This is a joke. You're kidding, right? You're not seriously doing this to me, right? Do you have any idea how humiliating it will be to have you on this trip?"
Mom: "How could it possibly be humiliating? I'll just be a chaperone! I'll be there in the background. You won't even notice me! There will be ten other chaperones there!"
Daughter: "No. No! You'll like, knock on my hotel door in the morning and tell me to take my vitamins. Or you'll like, give me sunscreen to put on or make me wear a sweater when I'm cold. It's going to be the worst. You will ruin the trip. You will ruin my whole life!"

Needless to say, their conversation wasn't exactly quiet and at one point I made eye contact with the daughter. She looked at me, rolled her eyes, and threw her arms up in exasperation as if to say, "Parents! They just don't understand, right?" And I felt an instant wave of sympathy and solidarity.

With her mother.

Ten years ago, I was nineteen years old. If nineteen-year-old me had been in that airport, I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that she would have sympathized with the younger girl. It is embarrassing that your mom wants to go on your trip! If my mom was going on my trip I'd like, totally die. Your mom will come into your room and tell you to take your vitamins and offer you a sweater! My mom would have done the same thing and my mom was the worst. Ugh, I can practically hear smug nineteen-year-old me, with her stupid boundless energy and eye make-up so dark you could see it from space saying these things to herself (probably out loud under her breath without realizing it, because some things never change). Sometimes nineteen-year-old me makes twenty-nine-year-old me want to hang her head in shame.

Back then, I probably wouldn't have noticed the mom at all. How tired she looked, how rejected she felt by her daughter, how she had probably been both dreading this conversation and anticipating the result. I definitely wouldn't have noticed the dad's deer-in-the-headlights, "Oh dear God, we're having this conversation now?" look on his face. I absolutely wouldn't have picked up on the fact that this mom's "Disapoint-N-Dash" maneuver was brilliant on a thousand different levels. But most of all, I wouldn't have felt sympathy for her because I had no idea how hard it was being a parent. How hard it is to put someone else before yourself, care about them constantly, worry about things like how much sleep they get or if they'll put on a sweater when they're cold, only to have them roll their eyes at you. I didn't have a clue. No one ever does.

Almost exactly two years ago, I started writing this blog, but I didn't really start it so that I could chronicle my life, per se. I started it so I could chronicle the gradual shift of my perspective. Parenthood is a huge factor in my changing perspective (obviously) but getting older and figuring out who I am and what I really care about is a part of it too. I started this blog because I find the metamorphosis from idealistic, energetic young person to exhausted, idealistic (but in a biting, cynical kind of way) older person both fascinating and terrifying. I'm writing it because I like to think there is more to me than meets the eye and I like to explore that. I'm writing it because I saw a "Saved By The Bell" episode for the first time in about a million years, and all I could do was glare at the TV and wonder where the hell their parents were and why they weren't doing something to stop all of these teenage shenanigans, and frankly, I have no idea when I started to think that way.

And of course, I write it because I'll do anything to get a laugh.

We all change as we get older and begin to see things in a different way. I guess it's all part of this whole "growing up" thing that I've heard so much about. And who knows? Maybe someday I'll write about how I've given up singing Brown Sugar every time I make oatmeal or how I've finally stopped casting myself in the Meg Ryan role of my Tom Hanks airport daydream.

Then again, maybe not.