A Longing in their Hearts

When my daughters were little I used to listen to a lot of Bonnie Raitt songs, and there was one entitled "A longing in their hearts." I don't remember much about the song, but as I wander through my days I still think of the title from time to time. It seems to me that much of the good -- and the bad -- that we do as human beings stems from that "longing in our hearts." The longing may manifest itself in different ways -- for a child, it could be a longing for a bike, or a gold star from the teacher; for a true friend, for a square meal... and for an adult there are equivalent longings -- for a new car, a raise, a loving mate, a square meal -- or at least the chance to provide one for your family.
But how do we play out these longings? Do we ask, or manipulate; work harder or cheat; offer or demand or complain -- or just plain struggle? The choices we make often depend on how desperate we are, and the levels of desperation can vary considerably with economic circumstances, childhood upbringing, social connections, personal or parental expectations...

But at the heart of all those longings and the behaviors they drive, for me, is just the desire to be heard, to be seen, to be valued -- and, really, to be special.

A friend once told me she was often perceived at work as very difficult and demanding. And one day in a staff meeting, she was being stubborn and the other members of the staff were growing increasingly angry, and her boss called a timeout. "Listen," he said, you need to understand. Lena does not need to have everything done her way. She JUST NEEDS TO BE HEARD! You can choose to go down this path; Lena just needs to know that you made the choice having actually HEARD the data she has to share that contradicts the choice." Listening to him, Lena realized he was right. She didn't NEED them to do things a certain way, she just hated to be ignored when she had important information to share.

In another example, there was a recent article in the New Yorker about the rise in malpractice suits, and, in his interviews with the plaintiffs, the author of the article learned that in many cases all the patient really wanted was an apology. Again, they just needed to be heard. But because of litigation fears and insurance costs, the doctors no longer felt they could admit that something might have gone wrong. As a result, accusations of malpractice continue to rise, insurance rates are skyrocketing, and doctors become less and less able to admit their weaknesses and failures.

I suspect that as Americans we are particularly vulnerable to this need to feel special; honored, or recognized. Our capitalist society has always had a bit of "every man for himself" at its heart, and we tend to be stubbornly competitive as a result. At the same time our families and communities are often fragmented, so the traditional channels for appreciation and affection may be blocked, through no fault of our own. Some say religion should help, but does it really help to know that we are special to God if EVERYONE is special to God?

Only if we understand that we are all inextricably linked together, sharing together in the building of our common future; that if one child is hungry, all feel the pangs in some way; that if one soldier is wounded the wounds in all of us will ache in sympathy; that each person's success or failure can bring joy or sadness to all. And, in that way, each of us IS special, and each of us not only longs to be heard and seen but DESERVES to be heard and seen, because we are all participants together in the divine experiment we know as life.

As my husband and I adjust to our newly emptied nest, we are finding that we need to brush up our communications skills a bit. One way this problem manifests itself is when he raises his head from his computer and realizes I am not in the house and he has no clue where I am. Worse still, he'll call my cell and I won't answer. So by the time I come home he's a little grumpy about my perceived disappearance "off the grid." And usually I say, "But I told you I was leaving" or "you know there's no reception on that part of the island." He's developed the perfect response: "Did you have eye contact when you said that?"

Which is really an important point. How we learn that we are special, both as children and as adults, is when people look at us, look us in the eye, and listen to what we have to say. It's very easy to just go charging (or drifting, whatever your personal style may be) through life without actually stepping outside your own concerns and agendas to see and hear those around you. Instead of going through your days consumed by your own thoughts and to-do lists, take time to pay attention -- not just to your family and friends, but to your surroundings as well. Because I think the way this linked universe works is that if we pay attention to it, it pays attention to us.

This morning, while sipping my coffee, I looked out the window and saw a pair of loons paddling just off our beach. Though we've seen loons before, this is the first time I've seen a pair. But to see them I had to look. I had to take my eyes away from my food, from the mess in the kitchen, from the book I was reading. And this is my point: when I did that, when I looked up and paid attention, I got to see the loons. And you know what? It made my day -- and made me feel -- special.

Yup: in the words of the immortal David Byrne (of Talking Heads fame), this post is truly a "Celebration of Special-NESS."