Eliza VanCort's Blog

A Year Into the Pandemic, I Miss Connecting With Strangers

We live in a time when getting too close to others might literally kill us, and that simple but horrific fact has changed everything. Our ability to connect has been compromised by forced distance from one another, and it’s taking a heavy toll.

Recently I was at a local café when, without warning, a woman bolted out of line and walked over to an isolated table. After a few very shaky deep breaths, tears began spilling out of her eyes. Normally I would have walked over to her and checked in. In the age of Covid-19, I was utterly paralyzed. How can I quietly and discreetly check in with a woman who is 6 feet away?

Finally, I decided to wing it. I left the line, and as softly as I could, from six feet away, said, “I have to ask. Are you OK?”

The woman looked up, almost startled by human contact. Then, through tears, she said, “I just left my mom. She’s in her 80s. I live in California and have to fly back home today to my daughter. My mom’s pretty careful, but I’m so scared she’s going to die, and I won’t be there — I won’t be there to hold her hand.”

I paused for a moment, not sure of what to say. Then, finally, “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could help. This just really, really sucks.”“It does. It does suck. I hate it.” She paused, looked me straight in the eye, and said, “Thank you for asking. Really.”

We stood there quietly, just looking at each other, physically distanced, but unexpectedly emotionally close. It was beautiful, vulnerable, hopeful and profoundly uplifting. Despite our lack of physical proximity, our unexpected encounter was intensely honest and intimate.

Finally, she took a breath and said, “Thank you. This has meant a lot.”

Then she picked up her purse, and walked out the door.

Good Social Distancing and Bad Mental Health

Physical distancing during the pandemic has created painful emotional distancing.

I recently had a conversation with my friend Mike Ellis about the impact of social distancing. Mike is a therapist who has spent his career focusing on treating our most vulnerable.

“Human beings thrive on human connection. We need it. For 25 years in the mental health field, I’ve seen that connection is critical to our well-being. This includes casual everyday contact with strangers in our community, which gives us a sense of belonging.”

Mike and I live in Ithaca, NY. Our small college town has generally been below the national rate of per capita Covid cases. When it comes to mask wearing and social distancing, our little collegetown gets an “A.” Overall, this is a really good thing. But it also comes with an unquantifiable cost.

Humans have three levels of closeness and intimacy with others.

1. Inner circle

2. Casual connections

3. Total Strangers

According to Ellis, “We can still connect with those we love over zoom, but the pandemic has compromised our ability to create and nurture casual connections and to connect with strangers. This has hit our most vulnerable the hardest. Those who have less of a social network are really suffering.”

So much of how we communicate depends on how physically close we are to each other. When sharing our most intimate thoughts and feelings, physical closeness creates a sense of safety. This is why we talk quietly to people about our most intimate feelings even when no one else could overhear us.

We are not versed at connecting from six feet away. At the same time, in some ways real connection is easier now. There is far greater potential to connect quickly and authentically with strangers in ways we never could before this plague insidiously injected itself into our lives. There is an openness about human suffering, a lack of shame about feeling sad or anxious, a palpable desire to make a difference, that we just didn’t have before. There is a feeling that we are all in this together. And we are.

While we wait for Americans to receive the vaccine en masse, each one of us can make a big impact on the well being of people in our community with small but critical shifts in our behavior.

How to Physically Distance While Not Emotionally Distancing

1. Say Hello

This may sound intuitively obvious, but it often seems as if we don’t know how to share a simple hello from a distance. Perhaps we fear what will come next. These days, real conversations are often not uplifting. Resist the urge to check out. Whether you’re in the line at the grocery store, or you’re walking down the street, make an effort to greet people. I’ve been doing this lately and have been repeatedly stunned by the response. People seem like they are thirsty in an emotional desert, just waiting for human connection.Say hello!

2. Throw Etiquette Out The Window

If you’re a loud Italian like me, congratulations! This is your moment!Politeness, to many, means not raising our voices. I now let what I call my “full Italian” fly! I even yell hello to folks over a half a block away. I will readily admit people are slightly shocked at first. Yet in the end, we talk, loudly, to each from six feet apart. And it’s pretty great!

3. Don’t Run From The Sad Stuff

Pre-Covid there was an expectation we lie like sociopaths all day long. Even if your beloved Aunt just died, when asked how you were doing the expected answer was, “I’m fine, how are you.” Today, there is a greater tolerance for honesty, but we can go even further, rejecting the endless hollow platitudes we use as shields. Instead, we can really ask people how they’re doing. People can tell the difference. They will feel it if we have truly committed ourselves to hearing their real and honest answer. And here’s the amazing part. After that, we don’t need to do anything heroic. As Mike put it, “You can’t fix it, but that’s not the point. Just letting another human being know you hear them, that they are seen, is so validating and sustaining. It’s critical.” My answer to the woman in the cafe, my simple, “That sucks,” wasn’t exactly artful. In that moment, however, it was enough.

We can begin to heal our broken, sick world now if we all actively fight the default of emotionally distancing. That awkward but ultimately beautiful moment I shared in that cafe is one I won’t soon forget. With a little extra effort and creativity, connection is absolutely still possible. If we don’t find ways to reach each other, we may have more than a broken economy and broken hearts from lost lives to deal with after this pandemic. One of the pillars that holds our society together may be broken as well: human connection.

[If you’d like to help, one way to do it is to donate to the organization Mike Ellis works for, Family and Children’s Service. Throughout this crisis they’ve been providing critical mental health services to folks who really need them.]

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Relearning How to Communicate After My Car Accident

This week, I gave an interview to Authority Magazine about my experience after being hit by a car. It was a long recovery, and what I…

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A Year Into the Pandemic, I Miss Connecting With Strangers

We live in a time when getting too close to others might literally kill us, and that simple but horrific fact has changed everything. Our…

Continue reading on Medium »

WHY WE SHOULD VOTE, PROTEST, AND TALK POLITICS WITH OUR KIDS

7 REASONS WHY POLITICAL PARENTING IS MORAL PARENTING

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The Good We Can Do In One Small Moment

How My Pharmacist Stopped Time

I just walked into my pharmacy to pick up a prescription. When the elderly gentleman in front of me got to the counter, he said something to the pharmacist. Tears welled up in her eyes. Everyone got quiet. Then, without hesitation, she slowly walked around the counter and hugged him, patting his shoulder as they cried together. 

None of us in line knew what was happening, but all of us went from strangers rushing to our next very important thing to a unified little community. As the two cried together, uninhibited in their collective grief, we all stood by silently. It felt as if we knew the man, and our hearts collectively went out to this stranger. We knew nothing about the specifics, and we didn’t have to. Pain is a universal human experience.

After about five minutes the pharmacist returned to the counter. Without hesitation, her co-worker walked from the counter to the man and hugged him. She too cried softly as he continued to quietly weep, patting him gently on the back. Eventually, from their murmurs, it became clear the man’s wife had died. She was the love of his life.

The first pharmacist called me over. “I’m sorry you had to wait,” she said, still teary. She knows I squeeze too much into my day and she works hard to have things ready to go for me. She’s like this with everyone — mindful of her job, and dedicated to doing it right.

“No, no. It’s ok!” I said, “I feel like I should give you a hug.”

“It’s just you know someone your whole life and then they’re gone,” she said with such genuine care.

I broke the unspoken counter barrier and gently touched her arm. “I’m so, so sorry.”

She smiled at me, still teary. “Thank you, Eliza.” 

When I left, the second pharmacist was still with the grieving husband, talking to him in comforting hushed tones. They were smiling through tears now, remembering his beloved wife. In that moment, it was exactly what he needed.

The image of that grey haired, hunched over man laying his head on those women’s shoulders, tears falling down his face as they shared his grief, is one I will never forget. It’s what living in the moment really looks like. It’s what empathy and kindness looks like. And it’s what loving your job looks like. I left moved, hopeful, and inspired.

The Power of Naming Small Moments

We have so many words for the everyday cruelty humans inflict upon each other. Teasing. Backstabbing. Gossiping. Microaggressions. Yet in trying to describe this moment to friends I realized we don’t have nearly as many specific terms for moments like this. We should. 

Words provide a framework to inspire our actions. Where are the varied words which describe the countless small, but important, ways we can love each other, comfort each other, and protect each other? Where is the word for a moment like this? These simple but critical moments collectively combat the world’s darkness, and we need more words for them.

Here’s my first volley... 

Microbenevolence /mīkrōbəˈnevələns/ (verb) Those small but critical actions which spring from our conscience, and our hearts, and make a difference. Direct, subtle, and intentional care for humankind.

Microbenevolence.

Practicing microbenevolence, even for a few moments, is emotionally risky. It’s so much easier to stay safely behind our respective counters, to shut out the experiences of others. I know I’m guilty of this - I don’t see what’s right in front of me all the time. Why? I put on blinders. After all, I have places to go, things to accomplish, and those all important “next things” to check off my endless list… 

But those quiet, unflashy moments when I do practice microbenevolence, or see others practicing it, are the moments I remember - I always leave them feeling grateful and uplifted. They can seem unimportant. Yet, inch by inch they create unity, community and hope in our sometimes heartbreakingly callous and divided world. Imagine if each of us committed to practicing microbenevolence mindfully, consistently, and courageously every day.

Our world would be different. It would be better. 

Natasha Hirt, Illustrator I’m an MIT undergrad aspiring to empower people to design their own futures through art, science, and communication. When not studying architecture, collaborating with Eliza, or interning at the MIT Media Lab, I’m spending time with friends and biking around Boston.

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Thriving Dreamers: Succeeding Your Way

How I Skipped Class While I Was In Class 

Paranoid schizophrenia plagued my mother most of her life. She was a beloved English teacher, mentor to many, and a published poet… and often involuntarily admitted to hospitals. 

In my Mom’s lucid moments, she would regularly give me advice which was both counterintuitive and spot on in the same breath.  

Here’s one of my favorites: 

Eliza, if you feel bored in a really important class, here’s what you need to do: look outside the window and daydream. You just daydream, Eliza! Why waste your time in a classroom that bores you when your imagination could take you out of the classroom to somewhere else? You’ll learn a lot more, and get more done in the long run, if you keep daydreaming.

Get a lot done if I keep daydreaming? 

At the time, I worried that my mother’s advice were unstable ramblings. Today my mother is a missing person. When I was pregnant sixteen years ago with my youngest child she vanished without a trace. I still have a card she wrote me from around that time. It says, “Remember all our talks.” And I do. Oh how I cherish her wise, optimistic, fiercely loving, and almost always out-of-the-box nuggets of advice. 

Her thoughts on daydreaming are on my top ten list of….“Unexpected Things My Mom, Mary Louise Marini, Taught Me.” 

The Traveling Space Cadet

I have ADD.  It’s pretty bad. Growing up, I never liked authority, couldn’t sit still for too long, was stubborn as hell, and preferred stories in books to chemistry or math. I was regularly told by many adults in my life to stop living in “fantasy land,” called a “space cadet” often, and was chided to “stay on task” when my imagination or curiosity brought me decidedly off task… which happened regularly. 

I was a questioner. I was oppositional. I was a dreamer. 

I began applying my Mom’s daydreaming advice in earnest in high school. If I was bored, I was GONE, traveling out of the classroom and into fantasy land. My favorite phrases during these unbidden trips into the recesses of my imagination were: 

“What if...” and “Why not?”.

Monotonous Spanish teacher? Space Cadet was in orbit! Hmmmm. What if... the end of West Side Story was totally different? I spent the rest of class rewriting it in my head. Why not? 

Math teacher who droned on, aka that teacher in Ferris Bueller? Off I traveled to another dimension! Hmmm. What if… math never existed? I’d spend the rest of class imagining all of those math-free parallel universes. Why not? 

“VanCort? VanCort? Are you paying attention?” Yes! Yes I am Mr. Monotonous! (Just not to you.)

What If? Why Not?

My penchant for ceaselessly daydreaming about “what if” and then boldy springing into action with “why not” took me on a roller coaster that was often terrifying, sometimes painful, and rarely predictable or easy. Many would not find the life I’ve lived tolerable. Yet I learned from every failure and triumph, and I love where I landed. I’m a speaker on the lecture circuit. I get paid to teach people about something that I never tire of learning about: communication. It’s fulfilling, rewarding, fascinating and fun. 

Hunters and Farmers

Years ago I read a book called  “ADHD: A Hunter in a Farmer’s World” by Thom Hartmann. In the book Hartmann reframes ADD traits within the context of “Hunters,” describing people with ADD as flexible, independent risk-takers who are bored by mundane tasks. “Farmers” are those patient, consistently organized, and careful team players who do not have ADD. If you’re interested in knowing what specific characteristics Hartmann associates with Hunters and Farmers, check out this graph on Hartmann’s website. 

While I read the book to learn more about ADD, I eventually took the analogy further. I believe there is a spectrum of personalities, Hunters being at one extreme  and Farmers at the other. You don’t have to have been diagnosed with ADHD to be someone with predominantly Hunter traits. You simply need to be that person who never quite fit in, got in trouble a lot, questioned authority, lived in your imagination more often than not and never chose the well worn path. You had to be like me… an oppositional, optimistic dreamer. 

From the time I was a kid, Farmers made me feel my Hunter traits were irresponsible, deviant, and wrong. Sometimes they did this purposefully, mostly they did it just by making life seem so easy with their predictable, safe choices. I’m embarrassed to admit initially I vilified Farmers. Indeed, here’s how I saw them: Farmers are banal, rigid, automatons who kill creativity and thrive off making everyone else miserable with their love of bureaucracy, rules, and red tape. They are that nosy scolding neighbor or unceasingly judgmental family member. Farmers tell you to stop running in the halls. Later, they work for the IRS and audit you. Farmers are that infuriating person who says, “I can’t. Those are the rules. I have to follow policy.”

Farmers. Who needs them? Not me. Well, maybe not.

Farmers and Mad Max

After some serious living and self-reflection I realized something. My years of being devalued (whether real or imagined) by Farmers, and my jealousy of their seemingly easy lives, might have been clouding my judgement just a wee bit. 

Farmers are necessary, contributing to our world in ways Hunters just can’t. They are the glue which holds our social contract together, creating safe communities based on the rule of law. They underpin our country, providing stability, consistency, and certainty. Farmers keep electricity pumping into our homes, organizations humming along, and stoplights functioning. They make sure our communities don’t devolve into utter chaos. 

Farmers live predictable, safer lives, which is usually a good thing. Farmers rarely disrupt those around them with drama. They aren’t repeatedly bloodied and bruised from falling smack on their faces. Farmers are our loyal, reliable, steady-as-she-goes partners. Yes, Hunters often conceive of innovative ideas, but birthing them requires collaborations with smart, can-do, loyal Farmers. Farmers are the caring friends you can always count on, the dedicated team members who keep projects on track, and the loving teachers who go to school day after day, determined to teach our children to read. If, like me, you have dreamed of a world comprised of only Hunters, be careful what you wish for. Think Mad Max. Terrifying.

Hunters and 1984

Most of us intuitively know a world comprised only of orbiting space cadets would be chaotic and frightening. This is why I believe Farmers in positions of authority fear Hunters, often shaming, marginalizing, and punishing them in a vain effort to extinguish their Hunters’ traits. 

But here’s the rub, the world needs both. Hunters’ ability to effortlessly enter “fantasy land”, to defiantly question what is, makes us society’s innovators, thought leaders, risk takers, inventors, entrepreneurs, and artists. We fight hard, love with abandon, and can’t turn down an adventure. We don’t accept injustice, fighting for what we believe with unbridled ferocity. If you have dreamed of a world comprised only of Farmers, be careful what you wish for. Think 1984. Terrifying.

Embracing the Hunt

Being a Hunter is difficult. Hunters are that kid - they don’t sit still, talk in class, and make teachers jobs infinitely more difficult. As we grow up this translates to difficulty following through with necessary mundane tasks, and let’s face it - many of the necessary things we do in life are mundane. Dishes? Mundane. Paying bills? Mundane. Following the rules in school? Mundane. Paying attention in a meeting? Often mundane. 

For years, I longed to be a Farmer. Today I love being a Hunter. I’m proud that looking out the window and daydreaming has guided my life. Yes, my journey is rarely predictable, and that’s often hard. I’ve bloodied my nose from falling on my face so often. Yet stress, strain, repeated failure and societal pressure to play it safe hasn’t deterred me. It’s been my gas. My failures are always followed by more “What ifs,” and then by irreverent, sometimes impetuous, but always determined “Why nots?!?” 

My stubborn sense of adventure has made the impossible possible more than once. My imagination allows me to flip from business to business, task to task, while deriving meaning from the constantly changing demands and unpredictable flow of entrepreneurship. It’s also made it possible for me to creatively raise four wildly different, fierce kids without losing every last hair on my head.

A Message for Hunters

It’s not easy being a Hunter, but I’ve turned what were painful “deficits” as a kid into powerful assets as an adult. Now part of my job is sharing that advice with others, and I have had the distinct pleasure of mentoring and working with countless successful Hunters. Here’s what I’ve learned.  

If you’re a Hunter tempting to look at the highly successful Farmers around you and compare yourself to them. Don’t. 

Instead, look at your career and ask yourself...

Are you adding value to your organization?

Are you using your strengths at work rather than struggling to overcome your weaknesses?

Are you fulfilled and successful?

If the answer is “no” you’re probably a Hunter trying to farm, and you’re doing yourself and the world a disservice. You will never be able to succeed the way they do, and you shouldn’t try. You’ll fail. 

Here’s my advice…

Look outside the window and daydream. You just daydream, my fellow Hunter! Why waste your time in a job that bores you when your imagination could take you out of that job to greener pastures? You’ll learn a lot more, and get more done in the long run, if you keep daydreaming.

Whatever you do, don’t stay where you are, longing to be like the Farmers you know. Sure, you may never be your best friend or sibling who had everything figured everything out from the start.

What if… you need a different path?  Why not… try? 

Stay in your field, but find an innovative company which plays to your strengths. Go back to school and change your career. Get creative. Turn your “hobby” into an entrepreneurial venture. Become your own boss. 

Think about what you love, trust you’ll to do it well, break the rules, innovate, and start over. 

You’re a Hunter. Go hunt.

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Illustration by Natasha Hirt ETIQUETTE IS UN-AMERICAN The Borg, Ronald Reagan, And How To Be A Patriot

We Don’t Yell In This Neighborhood

A few years ago a family moved into my neighborhood. As I was yelling to my scattered-in-all-directions kids to get in the car, the mother of the new family walked up to me and said quietly, “We don’t yell in this neighborhood.”

I enjoy my neighborhood. It’s largely peopled with bright, interesting academics who teach at Cornell University, which is just around the corner. Generally, Cornell is a big part of what makes our little town, and my neighborhood, so special. However, one thing I do find difficult at times is how heavily my neighborhood is influenced by some of Cornell’s more traditional cultural norms. In this case, despite the fact that I lived in my home far longer, and it would have been absurd for me to tell her to yell while rounding up her own children, my new neighbor was comfortable telling me to adjust my behavior. 

Three Parents, Three Sets of Rules 

We spend a lot of time in our country praising and rewarding behaviors supposedly universal but actuality representative of only a mere sliver of our population. In doing so, we diminish some cultures while reinforcing the perceived superiority of others.

Here’s an example. You’re at a very nice restaurant, and one of your party is a little late. When she walks in, what does etiquette dictate? 

Many would argue American etiquette mandates you quietly gesture to her. If that doesn’t work, go to her and usher her unobtrusively to your table. This undoubtedly is proper in certain American subcultures, especially professional and academic workspaces. Yet in reality, most of the world does not behave this way. 

My Mom, Mary Louise Marini, is from an Italian family. Her grandmother, an immigrant, spoke fluent Italian. If this scenario happened with her family we would stand up and gesture wildly with big welcoming smiles on our faces. If that didn’t work several of us would probably start yelling “Hey Josie! We’re over here! We’ve been waiting for you!” Our table would not be quiet. Being quiet in a circumstance like this would be downright rude - you welcome friends and family with boisterous warmth. It’s impolite not to.

My Dad, Matthys Van Cort, was born to Dutch parents who fled Europe in World War II. He never missed a chance to explain that while Americans held their hands in their laps when dining, in Holland you would never do that. It would be considered rude. You always rest hands on the table. 

My Stepmother, Elisabeth “Beth” Prentice, was the daughter of a diplomat whose family had lived in the United States for generations. Both my father and Beth intuitively understood how critical it was for us to learn “manners”. I didn’t realize it at the time, but in hindsight every night our dinners were nuanced etiquette lessons. The joking phrase, “Would you eat that way with the Queen?”, followed by gentle redirecting, was a common occurrence. To this day I still can’t walk over to a table if the knife is pointing in the wrong direction without quietly fixing it. 

All three parents taught me there were strict yet disparate rules for different cultures and situations. As a young adult I realised that, if I wanted to have access to the halls of power, I had to follow Beth’s rules. So I did.

Etiquette: Who created it? Who controls it? 

According to The American School of Protocol, “In the 17th century, King Louis XIV of France... encouraged the nobility to adopt highly-technical manners that would elevate them above the masses.” 

Things aren’t so different than the 17th century. If you don’t know “manners” you will have a very hard time succeeding in any career which requires building social capital. This includes most professional and academic careers. 

“Etiquette” in America is, quite simply, a set of detailed cultural rules and expectations historically used by Wealthy/Powerful White Protestants which differentiate them from everyone else. Having worked as a coach with people trying to understand American cultural norms, I’m constantly frustrated by the amount of talent which goes untapped or passed over because we don’t understand how power intersects with behavioral expectations.  

I used to be shocked at the lack of knowledge my mentees had about the rules of the game. I now realize how narrow a perspective that is. All of my mentees are schooled in “The Rules" of the game for their background. Whether they come from a small village in China, a farming community in the Southern Georgia, or an urban area in the Bronx, they each grew up with very specific rules and know them as well as I know mine. Undoubtedly if I showed up at any of their houses I would breach etiquette. Badly. 

Four Reasons to Reject Rigid Etiquette

By framing etiquette as we do, we are saying one culture has figured out the proper way to do things and everyone else’s culture is invalid or wrong. This contributes to the following problems:

Unreasonable Expectations: Those in power expect everyone to know their rules, rather than learning or accepting the rules of others.

Unfair Judgements: People who have not had the benefit of a lifetime of direct instruction in the etiquette of power are judged poorly, often considered gauche or “uncivilized”.

Etiquette Is A Secret Handshake: Etiquette reveals your level of privilege. If you come from power and money, “manners” will quickly and easily identify those with similar backgrounds to yours. You will see them as “like you”, often inadvertently closing the door on those who are equally or more competent.

Etiquette “Others” The Real Majority: Most of us don’t grow up learning etiquette from the daughter of a diplomat. Without my stepmother I would have no idea which fork to use first, and I would have started my adult life at a distinct disadvantage. Etiquette promotes the idea that one group is correct and every other group is different. This in group/out group mentality not only perpetuates implicit bias but also denigrates and devalues all but one narrow culture.

We are Americans, Not The Borg

America likes to think of itself as a melting pot. That analogy reminds me of the Borg on Star Trek.

“We are the Borg… Your culture will adapt to service us. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.”

Melting pot? I’m not a fan.

I have always preferred the salad analogy. Apart we aren’t as delicious as we are together. We each have our own different flavors, and it is those differences which makes the American salad so delectable and interesting. The more variety in our salad, the better. “Etiquette” purports there is only one vegetable in the salad that has value. This couldn’t be more wrong. 

Ronald Reagan, in his final address to our nation as President, expressed this sentiment beautifully. His speech was an unabashed celebration of America’s diverse cultures, and what our differences bring to the table:

“We lead the world because, unique among nations, we draw our people — our strength — from every country and every corner of the world. And by doing so we continuously renew and enrich our nation.... Thanks to each wave of new arrivals to this land of opportunity, we’re a nation forever young, forever bursting with energy and new ideas, and always on the cutting edge, always leading the world to the next frontier. This quality is vital to our future as a nation. If we ever closed the door to new Americans, our leadership in the world would soon be lost."

Regardless of what you think of Reagan’s policies, he understood we are a salad. And that is what makes America great. Native Americans were here long before the Mayflower landed. Africans arrived in chains. Immigrants came here seeking a better life. America's unique past is shameful and inspiring, tragic and uplifting. Yet we all now live here together, learning from each other, benefiting every day from the rich cultures each of us bring to the table. Assigning more value to any one of America’s beautifully diverse cultural norms is, on its face, un-American.

How To Be A Patriotic American

The next time you meet someone who was raised with cultural norms different than yours instead of judging them as “different” or “wrong”, why not ask them about etiquette in their family, community, or country - from table etiquette to conversational etiquette to familial etiquette. In doing so, you will gain you a window into their experiences, validate their culture, and build real, meaningful rapport. More importantly, you will show through your words and actions what it is to truly be a patriotic American. 

I am proud of what I learned from all three of my parents. Their divergent expectations formed me, and they are what make me a walking example of what it is to be an American. We are a nation built brick by brick by people from all over the world, manifesting the American dream through our glorious differences and divergent perspectives. 

A few years ago a family moved into my neighborhood. The mother of the family told me “We don’t yell in this neighborhood.” I was tempted to remind her I had lived here a lot longer than she had and maybe she should mind her business. Instead I smiled warmly and said in a loud, welcoming voice, “I’m Italian, so in this neighborhood... we do!”

Natasha Hirt, Illustrator I’m an MIT undergrad aspiring to empower people to design their own futures through art, science, and communication. When not studying architecture, collaborating with Eliza, or interning at the MIT Media Lab, I’m spending time with friends and biking around Boston.

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Dear Parents... Why You Shouldn't Tell Your Kids Not To Go Into Acting

An open letter to parents...

Dear Well-Meaning, Concerned Parents,

Please don’t tell your kids not to go into acting. Please. (Or, for that matter, any career choice you may not agree with… but I digress.) By discouraging your kid from doing what they love, you are not helping them. Instead, you are doing the following: 

Informing them you don’t trust their judgement.

Telling them it’s not worth taking risks in life.

Teaching them to ignore their dreams and settle.

Training them to question their abilities.

Consigning them to a lifetime of regret and unhappiness.

What I've Witnessed Working With Young Adults...

I own an acting studio, and I travel the world speaking and running seminars on communication. As an acting teacher, I develop very close relationships with my students. Running job interview seminars for students at top Universities is an important component of my communication work. I have an up close and personal view of what happens when parents pressure kids into any one career. The result of this pressure can be almost unbearable to witness. The regret, demoralization, and heartbreak I have seen is immeasurable.

Questioning your child’s ability to make choices as an adult, encouraging them to take the safe route and play small, prodding them to settle for a life they never wanted… These messages will impact far more than your child’s career. They will impact every aspect of their lives. And they will suffer for it.

Busting Popular, Damaging Myths about "The Business"...

I’ve been an acting teacher for over twenty years. Before discouraging your kid from following her dreams, please check out these myths about the business.

Your kid will starve. This is utter hogwash. If your kid finishes high school (and I recommend they finish college) they will not starve. Conventional wisdom dictates it takes seven years to “make it” as an actor, and I have found this to be absolutely true. For seven years your kid may wait tables. This will not kill them. And they will not die of starvation.

Your kid will never “make it.” Most non-theater people think of "making it" as becoming George Clooney. If this is the bar then yes, your kid probably won’t make it. Indeed, Clooney himself has said that his level of fame is akin to winning the lottery. Please understand your kid is in the arts because she really LOVES the arts. She doesn’t need to be obscenely rich to be happy. She simply needs to work consistently, and if she puts in sweat for seven years, she will do just that.

Your kid will need a lot of luck. Please let go of this damaging myth. Luck is what you need to become wildly famous. To work consistently you need only two out of the following three characteristics. (I did not come up with this. It's an idea most of my fellow teachers in the industry know about, and we treat as gospel. It's brilliant, and it's spot on.)

On time (You are unfailingly professional.)

Talented (You are a good actor.)

Nice (Everyone loves working with you.)

While possessing all three characteristics certainly helps, you only need two. If you don’t believe me, ask yourself if you’ve ever seen a bad actor on TV or in the movies. We all have. Bad actors are everywhere, and some are making obscene amounts of money! Why? They’re a great time and always show up prepared. You don’t need to be a gigantic talent to work as an actor. You just need to be what every other profession calls for: unfailingly professional and really fun to work with. 

Your kid will be destroyed from the rejection. Nope. They will be sad, but they will learn valuable lessons, like outside validation is not necessary to believe in yourself and if you get kicked down, get back up again. Rejection does not destroy people. Doing a job you hate while longing, painfully, to do another job destroys people. 

What really happens to aspiring actors?

Every last student I have ever had who stuck it out in the arts is (happily!) still in the arts. Are they all working actors? No. Some decided seven years was too long, and chose to do other jobs in the business. Some are talent agents. Some teach acting. Some are entertainment lawyers. Some run theater companies. But all of them are thankful they gave it a shot. It eventually led them to a career in a business which brings them great happiness and fulfillment. Those who did stick it out are working actors. And they are all some of the happiest people I know. 

Who makes it, and why?

What’s the one factor that most accurately predicts if my students became working actors? 

Parental support. 

Yes, parental support, not talent, and definitely not luck, is the number one predictor of long term success as an actor. Like any career, supportive parents who are also wealthy and connected to the industry do exponentially increase the probability of lottery-sized success for their child. That said, this is certainly not a prerequisite for helping your child become a working actor. The only requirement for making a respectable living as an actor is loving, positive, emotional support from parents, and that’s an unlimited resource.

While students whose parents are unequivocally behind them do very well, aspiring actors whose parents continue to question their kids ability to make a living acting will predictably struggle. Initial rejections will confirm what their parents have been telling them: Acting is too risky. They should quit before they even try. So they do just that. They quit. The discouraging words of the people who matter most to them, their parents, become a heartbreaking self-fulfilling prophecy.

Recently I caught up with a student who is on Wall Street. He’s making a ton of money, and he is absolutely miserable. Unfortunately, I predicted he would be miserable. He had big dreams of being an actor. He was good, and acting was his passion. After college, at only twenty two, he decided to give up his dreams. Twenty two is too young to give up on anything, much less your life’s passion. Far too young. Yet it happens all the time. 

What can you do instead of discouraging your child?

Explain to them that life is about taking risks. (It’s about falling down, brushing off the dust, and falling down again until you’ve learned how to succeed.)

Get them voice lessons and dance lessons and acting lessons. (Scholarships and trades are often available. We do it in my studio all the time, and we are not unique.)

Help them find a great college to further their studies. (Find someone in the business, or a fellow parent who has been through it, to guide you through this often intimidating process.)

Tell them you love them, believe in them, and they have your full support. (Do this regularly.)

Want your kid to soar? Let go.

Do you want your kid to realize on his deathbed that he spent most of his life doing a job he didn’t like? Do you want him to feel he sacrificed big dreams to please you? This will be your child’s fate if you push your kid into a career they don’t want to be in. 

In the end you won’t be living your child’s life, they will, and they must choose how they live it. So please, don’t tell your kid not to go into acting. Trust that you raised them well, and they are ready to make their own choices.

Just as importantly, understand your kid has all the worries you do. Indeed, they are terrified of failing, and your support will mean everything to them. Help your treasured child work through their fears. Become the hero in their story by modeling what real support, love, and belief in another person looks like. Tell them you have their backs. Always. Send them off to this grand adventure we call life with courage, and with a smile. Then take a breath, sit back, and watch them shine!

Yours truly,

Eliza

Thanks to Alek Osinski and Eric Shaw for the copy editing.

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What I Learned Flying First Class (And why I'm a bit embarrassed about it.)

Until I started my business several years ago, I had no idea what was behind that magical curtain. I'm talking about that curtain- The one separating first class seats on airplanes from the rest of us mortals- the one flight attendants shut with such definitive, curt authority after takeoff. I always wondered…. 

What the hell was going on up there? Answer: More than I thought.

Was it so special it had to be hidden from the rest of us for fear coach would rise-up in a bloody revolt? Answer: Maybe?

"PLEASE BOOK ME A FIRST CLASS SEAT."

Several years ago, I got my answer. I started giving talks all over the world and suddenly flying became a staple of my life. At first, I flew coach. It never once occurred to me to ask orgs to pay for a first-class seat. After all, first class seats were for pretentious people rolling in money. Not me.

Then one day I was complaining to a dear friend about how hard it was to get any work done whilst wrestling my fellow passengers for one of the armrests. My friend, who isn’t pretentious but is pretty damn wealthy, said, “Why are they flying you coach? You have much bigger desks in first class and make such better use of your time! And besides, everything in first class is just… easier! Next time you get a gig you have to ask!”

I still remember almost passing out while pressing the send button on my email requesting a first-class seat. Would they laugh at me? Never work with me again? “In terms of travel,” my email read, “please book me a first class seat.” And then, for good measure, just to sound like I knew what I was talking about, and this was sooooo totally normal, I threw in, “I prefer a window seat, if possible.” To my surprise, I heard back right away. “No problem Eliza - let us know what airline you prefer so you can get the points.” Whaaaaat???? Why hadn’t I done this sooner?? And what airline should I sign up for?

In a few weeks the big day arrived. My first flight in first class! The experience blew my mind, and it wasn’t just the seats. (Although the back support and legroom? Phenomenal!)

 First class was, as my friend said, just…easier.

Let me break it down…

YOU KEEP YOUR STUFF

To begin with, I got to board first. Going in first is much better than it sounds. It spares you the line, but more importantly it ensures your rolling carry-on bag won’t be taken away because you’re at the end of the line and the overhead compartments have already filled up. Walking into that airplane with hundreds of tired coach passengers waiting to board behind me made me feel really guilty. But I would be lying if didn’t admit it also made me feel a bit like a celebrity, or royalty, or maybe a celebrity/royalty hybrid (a la Megan Markle). I was cool enough not to be separated from my luggage!

MORE ABOUT KEEPING YOUR STUFF

Once on the plane I noticed several other first-class passengers shoving bags into the overhead compartments- roomy compartments meant to hold more stuff for less people. Most of their “carry-ons” were just a bit too stuffed to comply with the 40 pounds and under rule. If this were coach the flights attendants would have intercepted those bags in a heartbeat and the passengers wouldn’t see them until after the flight. In first class, the passengers got just the opposite treatment. The flight attendants smiled sympathetically... poor people with such huge, unruly bags! One flight attendant even helped the man next to me shove his bag into the overhead compartment with the conviction of someone pushing a car out of a ditch on a freezing cold day. Wow!! Next time I would be packing my slippers, and a few other things!

FREE BOOZE!

Moments after I sat down, the flight attendant immediately came up to me, offered to hang my coat, and asked me what I wanted to drink. I looked around and noticed the people in front of me already had drinks. I hadn’t heard her informing them she only took credit cards, so why not? Free booze!! I ordered the most expensive drink I could think of, which in this case was some kind of hard liquor I never drink. I could barely choke it down, but who cares? It was free!

YOU ENTER ANOTHER DIMENSION

Once we were settled with our drinks the other “economy plus” passengers started to board. I noticed none of the people in first class made eye contact with them, or any of the coach people for that matter. It was as if they couldn’t see them, or didn’t want to. They sipped their wine, tapped on their laptops, and pretended our existence in first class was the only existence. (The Sci-Fi geek in me felt I had entered another dimension… or maybe the Matrix?) That felt more than a little wrong and very weird, so I made a point to smile at everyone who made eye contact with me. A few first class passengers shot disapproving glances at me. Clearly, I was breaking some unspoken rule, but I did it anyway. I’ve always been oppositional, and no snooty first-class passenger would change that!

THE SERVICE IS EXCELLENT

After the captain turned off the seatbelt sign, I noticed there was one flight attendant to take care of all of us, which in this case was about ten people. All we needed to do was lean over, summon her, and poof! Like a smiling, friendly flight attendant magical genie, she would appear and grant us our wishes. Blanket? Sure! Snack! Of course! Wine? What kind? 

(Side note: I kept thinking about the people in coach and how it always seemed like ages after you pushed that damn buzzer before the flight attendant got to you… and when he finally made it, he seemed annoyed. By contrast in first class I could ask for information about when my flight would land, even if we were up in the air for hours more, and that query would trump the young frazzled mother in the back with the kid who might vomit who actually needed help NOW. )

YOU ARE WELL FED AND WATERED

And finally, there was the food. On long flights you get a halfway decent meal, replete with tablecloth, flatware, and glasses made of actual glass. Before the meal you get a warm washcloth to clean your hands with. Many people also use this to freshen up their faces, especially if it’s lavender scented. (My first lavender scented washcloth was such a shock to me I almost stood up and yelled, “Holy crap! Lavender scented wet washcloths! No way!!!")

THE RULES AREN’T RIGID

Besides all of these perks, there was another overarching theme. In first class the rules are bendable, and that went beyond overstuffed carry-ons. Time to put away laptops? In first class passengers usually take at least five minutes to comply with this request, and no one says a thing. Seat needs to come up for landing? I’ve seen first class customers who were fast asleep, with their seats back, never be asked to move their seats upright before landing. More than once the flight attendant actually attempted to move the seat up for them rather than wake them. If she couldn’t, she waited until all of coach complied before finally giving in and waking the passenger up every so gently. 

IT’S FUN AND GAMES UNTIL...

Needless to say, flying first class was a shocker. I had no idea the people behind the curtain had it so good! But here’s the even more shocking thing… Eventually, after flying first class several times, my attitude changed. I stopped taking pictures and sending them to my friends with, “Whaaat!?!?” in the caption. I stopped looking around, in awe of my good fortune. Indeed, I stopped looking around… period.

I forgot I was in the Matrix. 

I started over-stuffing my bag without much thought. I expected a great meal. And, I’m embarrassed to admit, I became mildly disappointed if my warm washcloth wasn’t infused with delicious lavender. I even stopped interacting with coach folks as they boarded. Why? On one flight a coach passenger had been walking to her seat and said to me, quite warmly I might add, “Must be nice!” It was awkward- she had overtly called out our different experiences rather than smile gamely while walking by, pretending this huge discrepancy didn’t exist. After that, I started looking away while coach boarded, busying myself with work. In time, I’m deeply ashamed to admit, I didn’t really think about the experiences of the people in coach at all. 

Eventually, I no longer saw the perks of first class as incredible, special privileges which allowed me to get free stuff, be well treated, and bend the rules. And I stopped thinking about the people behind me … it just made me feel bad. 

Worst of all…

I began seeing the privileges of first class differently. I saw my privileges as my right, while simultaneously “forgetting” there was an entire group of folks behind me getting worse treatment. 

GETTING GOBSMACKED IN COACH

Then one day I went on a personal trip. I was still not in a place where I felt justified spending the extra money on a first class seat, so I decided to fly coach. No big deal. It can’t be as bad as I remembered it!

It was worse. 

As I waited in the long line with other coach passengers, I began to feel more and more indignant. This was ridiculous! Why did we have to wait? Once I finally sat down, I was sandwiched between two very large men. In short order, I was in an epic cold-war style battle for one armrest. (Not two, just one!) After wrangling one, I opened my “desk”. I had a lot of work to do and needed to dive in during the flight. The desk was far less functional, and much more rickety, than I remembered. To add insult to injury, the flight was very long, but beyond peanuts and crappy cookies, I had to pay for food, and the food was awful.

I soon found myself complaining to the people sitting next to me about how crappy and unacceptable this entire situation was! UNACCEPTABLE!! They both looked at me like I was nuts. One guy sighed and said, “I’ve never flown first class. I wouldn’t know.” The other guy rolled his eyes, baffled, and more than a bit annoyed, that I felt entitled to special treatment.

That’s when I was gobsmacked with three realizations: 

I was acting like a pretentious, arrogant, and entitled jerk.

Airplanes rock at teaching about privilege.

Once you have privilege, even for a short time, it is very easy to start behaving rather badly.

I started to rationalize immediately. 

But I needed my first-class seat! It was reasonable for me to feel like this! I was on a deadline! 

That's when I was gobsmacked, yet again, with a final realization.

The more challenges we feel we’re facing in our lives, the harder it is to turn around and see that other people have it worse. There were many times I was sitting in first class on a stressful work deadline. I would get to my seat, pull out my sturdy table, and begin typing feverishly until the plane was fully boarded. I didn’t look up at the coach folks as they boarded - not once. It wasn’t my fault. I had things to DO! I was facing too many challenges to look up!

HYPER-PRIVILEGE FIRST-CLASS DISEASE 

Have you ever been in a restaurant and seen an irate customer complaining to the waitstaff? I now call this Hyper-Privilege First Class Disease, or…HPFCD. (Not a great acronym, but the best I got.) Like me on airplanes, these folks have come to expect they will get the very best. When they don’t, it’s an outrage! Reeking of status, they feel entitled to squeak their wheels the most, and the harried staff bustles around, catering to their every need. Never once do these folks look around the restaurant and notice that everyone else was getting the same treatment they have deemed so awful. Never once do they consider that perhaps they are demanding special treatment. There is usually zero acknowledgement their special treatment is decreasing resources (in this case wait staff) for the rest of the customers. They just want what they were entitled to and want it NOW!

Hyper-Privilege First-Class Disease at its finest.

COMBATING HPFCD

The first step to combating privilege is to understand that you have it. The second step is understanding you don’t deserve your privilege more than other people.

Living a life with Hyper-Privilege First Class Disease, is...

having privilege for so long you don’t notice you’re rocking it. Example: When a man continuously interrupts a woman, but when called on it he gets defensive. He’s not lying when he says he’s definitely not interrupting. He’s simply done it so much he can’t see it’s happening.

breaking the rules more, and without consequence. Example: As a White woman, I can drive within 7 miles of the speed limit without getting a ticket. One of my students of color has memorized every speed change between work and his house. He slows down before he hits the signs. If he drives even one mile over the speed limit, he gets stopped. Getting stopped for this young Black man is not just an inconvenience. It can be dangerous.

being so accustomed to our privilege we don’t even know we have it. Example: I just assume I won’t be followed in stores. My friends of color, regardless of how they are dressed, are followed regularly.

Once you understand what you’ve got, you can begin to see what others don’t. Once you understand what others don’t, you can begin to fight for change…  

So, let’s break down privileges you have in first class...

Admittedly 1- 2 are unfair perks no one really needs, so my analogy isn’t rock solid. But I would argue that 4 -7 should be basic human rights for all of us, whether or not we are on a plane. 

You get all the booze you want. (not necessary, and not really good for your body.)

You always get served first. (not necessary, and not really good for your soul.)

You get a nice place to put your stuff. (shelter)

You have easy access to liquids to drink and decent food to eat. (basic needs)

People don’t punish you if you don’t comply with the rules perfectly. (a life free of harassment- think 7 miles over the speed limit)

People are nice to you and you are treated with respect. (human dignity)

There are all kinds of different privilege… White privilege, male privilege, wealth privilege, gender privilege, pretty privilege, age privilege… the list goes on and on. People understanding their specific privilege will not solve injustice, but it's a good place to start. Get familiar with your privilege. Interrupt moments when you get something you did not earn at the expense of another human being. Step in when you see someone treated badly because of their lack of privilege. If enough people of conscience commit to this, change is inevitable. And wouldn’t it be nice to live in a world where everyone has access to a first class life?

Edited By Alek Osinski

MINDFUL IGNORANCE: My Life As Elastigirl

About two years ago I was working out at the gym when I heard a delightful sound... Crackle. Pop. RIP! 

Fairly certain something serious had happened, and in an incredible amount of pain, I went to an Orthopedic surgeon... 

Him: There’s no way something serious is wrong. My exam would have caused you much more pain. Shoulder pain is pretty excruciating.

Me: I’m in excruciating pain. I live with pain and have learned to ignore all but the worst of it. The worst of it I can bear. I need an MRI.

Him: Look, I’ve worked with guys in the NFL. They couldn’t tolerate the exam I just gave you if they really hurt their shoulder. You probably have a little bicep strain. Just ice it and take Tylenol. 

Me: I gave birth three times without taking even a Tylenol. I would not be here for a little strain. 

Him: Well, if an MRI will help with your anxiety I guess I can order one.

Me: I’m not anxious. I’m injured.

He looked at me like I was nuts, rolled his eyes, but grudgingly ordered an MRI. Turns out I ripped my tendon pretty much off the bone and needed surgery. Good. Times.

Two weeks ago it happened again, but to the other shoulder. Once again, I got pushback from Docs. Good news is an MRI tells no lies, bad news is I’ll be having shoulder surgery soon. 

Like all of us, I’ve had people who didn’t know a damn thing about what I was going through make me feel really, really bad. I’ve also had folks who knew nothing about my life make me feel a whole lot better.  

Mindful Ignorance

After some thought, I’ve noticed a pattern. The people who made me feel better engage in a set of predictably similar behaviors. It’s almost like they’re following a playbook. 

I like naming concepts I’ve learned, and I’ve come up with a name for this playbook. These helpful folks were practicing Mindful Ignorance. (You will not find this term in an actual dictionary. I made it up. But it should be there!) 

Mindful Ignorance  modified noun  mind· ful | ig· no· rance \ ˈmīn(d)-fəl \ ˈig-n(ə-)rən(t)s \

Definition of Mindful Ignorance : the state of bearing in mind one’s ignorance : inclination to be aware, and accept, one’s lack of knowledge, education, or awareness about experiences other than our own

Coming to terms with the fact that I didn’t understand a damn thing about what I didn’t understand changed me. Mindful Ignorance now sits at the very foundation of my ability to learn what I don’t know. And that’s made me a whole lot more knowledgeable.

Years ago I was talking to a dear friend of mine. She was sharing a personal experience directly related to being a Black woman. I began to give her advice. (I mean, after all, I had just read a great book on race!) She put her hand up, palm facing me, and said, “You need to stop talking because you’re being really White right now.” I got more than a bit defensive at first, and began sputtering explanations. She interrupted, “Eliza, I don’t need advice. I know about racism. When a person of color is talking to you about their experience they just want you to shut up and listen.”

Knowing what you don’t know, and being mindful about it, is the first step to forging connection, and with that connection developing greater empathy and true wisdom. It is a gift to yourself and to the people around you. It’s also critical if you want to work on any of your internalized isms. Ageism. Classism. Sexism. Racism. Ableism. You name the “ism” and being mindful about your ignorance will help combat these roadblocks to real understanding. 

Tenets of Mindful Ignorance

We are ignorant.

No matter how many books we read or how many people we know who are similarly situated, we are still ignorant.

We must listen, without using our own dissimilar experiences as a touchpoint, in order to better learn about what we don’t understand.

How to Live A Mindfully Ignorant Life

Assume you know absolutely nothing about why people behave as they do.

Assume most of the strategies you are going to suggest to help people about something they have experienced their entire lives won’t work. These are what I call “Front Line Strategies.” This basically means they are the most basic strategies possible and have already been tried... and been deemed helpful or useless.

Assume you should use these magic words upon learning about an experience which differs from your own “I really don’t know much about [insert experience you never lived but are absolutely dying to give advice about here]. I can imagine it can get tiring answering questions (and comments) from people all the time, but if you ever feel like sharing I’d like to listen and learn."

My Life As Elastigirl

I don’t talk about this much, but I am the real Elastigirl, a la the movie The Incredibles. Sound like a lot of fun? It’s not. I have a connective tissue disorder which is on the spectrum of a rare disease called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), a disease which in it's most severe form can kill you at forty-eight. Why can EDS shorten life expectancy? To grossly simplify, the EDS body is too stretchy, including the heart and valves which surround it. Eventually, they give out.

My heart is fine, and thankfully I don’t have EDS. That said, my doctors did explore the diagnosis. Why? I'm unusually flexible, which is hallmark of EDS. My extreme flexibility has resulted in problems with just about every joint in my body and I've had tendonitis in tendons I didn’t know existed. Ultimately I was diagnosed with a chronic condition called Hypermobility Syndrome (HMS). 

Unlike Elastigirl in the movies, my life with HMS has been a daily battle to keep injuries at bay. My primary weapon in that battle is physical therapy. For the rest of my life I must do two hours of targeted weight lifting prescribed by my physical therapist every other day, and at least one hour of low impact cardio on alternating days. If I don’t do this diligently I pay for it in the form of herniated disks, disconnected joints, ripped tendons and all kinds of other fun stuff. 

The problem with this regimen is that when you’re extra stretchy you are also much more prone to injury, so HMS folks like me exist in a very odd catch 22. 

HMS: The Catch 22 & Stuff You Just Shouldn't Say

The HMS Catch 22

If HMS folks don’t work out we fall apart, quite literally.

vs.

We occasionally suffer injuries working out while trying to avoid suffering injuries.

This dichotomy can lead to a lot of confusion from well meaning folks who don’t know I have HMS, or don’t understand it. I get a lot of questions and comments...

The Stuff You Just Shouldn't Say

Well Meaning Person: “Why are you at the gym so much?” Me:"Because I’m hypermobile and if I don’t go I’ll get injured."

Well Meaning Person:“You get injured so much. You must be overdoing it.” Me:"I’m not overdoing it at all. Every last exercise I do is completely necessary, prescribed by my physical therapist, and I must do them, each and every one of them, because I’m hypermobile and if I don’t I’ll get injured." 

Well Meaning Person:“I can’t believe you got injured again! Why are you always injured?” Me:"You and me both. But I am injured because, DAMN IT, I’m hypermobile!"

And, my personal favorite…

Well Meaning Person: “Must be nice to have all that free time.” Me:"I don’t have free time, largely because I must spend at least eleven hours a week driving to the gym, working out, and driving home. I must do this for the rest of my life. Because I’m hypermobile and if I don’t go I’ll get injured." 

A Mindfully Ignorant Superhero

Most people respond to my HMS like the well meaning folks above. Those who don’t are practicing mindful ignorance - and it feels like a breath of fresh air.

Yesterday, I experienced mindful ignorance in an unexpected place- while getting my orthotics fitted. It was a gift. (Orthotics are little customized inserts to put in your shoes if you have foot trouble, for those of you lucky enough to have never heard of them.) My fitting is always done by a technician I absolutely love. Invariably I end up asking her to adjust the damn things over and over until they’re just right. I often feel embarrassed by my Princess And The Pea tweaking, but she doesn’t seem to care. 

As I was leaving I said, “Thanks for always being so patient with me. I know I’m a pain in the ass.”

She laughed, “I have three patients with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. I get it.”

“You know I don’t have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. I’m hypermobile.”

“I know. You’re lucky.”

I looked at her. I had never talked with someone who knew folks with EDS. “How are they doing?”

“Not good. One’s in a wheelchair and two are almost incapacited. It’s really sad. One used to be an avid rock climber - it was her entire life. She’ll never do that again.” Then she got serious, “Eliza, you need your orthotics to be perfect, and I’m glad I can help... Don’t ever say you’re a pain in the ass. I really can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”

Mindful Ignorance is one of the greatest small but impactful gifts you can give a person. I left feeling so validated, so seen, I almost burst into tears of relief and gratitude. She was right. She couldn’t imagine… but her ability to hear me and believe me, despite never having walked in my hypermobile shoes, meant everything to me. The woman’s a Superhero, and Mindful Ignorance is her superpower. 

And now, arm immobilized in a sling, shoulder pounding, I’m off to the gym. You don’t understand, and that’s ok. I ask only you be mindful in your ignorance.

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