Concerning Empathy
According to the Merriam-Webster online dictionary, empathy is “the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another.” This contrasts with sympathy, which is a feeling of concern for another but not of actively sharing the experience, and also with compassion, which involves a desire to alleviate the other’s distress. When I speak of empathy in this essay, I refer to this vicarious sharing of another person’s feelings and experiences.
I think that empathy is a natural outgrowth of love; it takes love several steps further into a sense of bonding and the sharing of minds. The example that prompted these musings occurred just a few nights ago. One of my sons has recently achieved some major goals in his life and is in the midst of shifting from one situation to another. As with many such changes, there is a period of uncertainty in between. He has been traveling across the United States, and he called me one evening while paused at a truck stop in the Midwest. It was late, and he planned to spend the night there, sleeping in his car. It was especially cold in that part of the country, and arctic storm fronts were soon expected to move in from the north. In my years on the road, not only in the States but also in Europe, the Middle East, and South Asia, I have been in similar, if not worse, situations. I know the feeling of having to bed down in an unknown, possibly risky place, and to try to sleep as best as I can in uncomfortable and unknown surroundings. I know that my son is an experienced traveler and has excellent survival training. And yet…
That night I couldn’t sleep. I felt for him out there in the darkness, in the cold, on the road. I wished that I could alleviate his distress, or at least somehow make my way there to share it with him. Instead of drifting off to sleep in my comfortable bed, I journeyed in spirit to that truck stop and I vicariously shared my son’s experience. I couldn’t get it out of my mind, nor did I want to. What I wanted to do is somehow telepathically consol him. Maybe I did; I don’t know. One thing was for sure, though: that night I didn’t get any more sleep than he did, and maybe less. In the morning, in my exhaustion, I came to realize that my son was well able to take care of himself and I needn’t have worried. However, what I went through that night went beyond worry. If I couldn’t be there for him physically, at least I could keep vigil for him and be there spiritually.
I’ve had experiences like this with my other sons, too, when they have gone through crises and were far from home. There is something in a parent-child relationship that does not dim with age. There is a link, a bond that remains strong regardless of where the vagaries of life lead us.
After the crisis was over, I continued to ponder the intensity and ramifications of empathy. And my thoughts shifted to my relationship with my mother when I was in the midst of my initial travels, hitchhiking across continents, taking the Hippie Trail, the overland journey from Europe across the Middle East to India, deliberately exposing myself to strange circumstances and possible dangers so that I could learn about life and write my impressions. When my son was in his isolated, vulnerable situation, I was able to video chat with him. But when I was traveling back in the 1970s, there were no cell phones and there was no internet. The only way to communicate with loved ones back home was by post in the form of aerograms, bits of paper that I could fold up and affix a stamp to. My mother only heard from me by means of these brief notes every few weeks, and to answer me, she had to send letters to the poste restante, or general delivery, of the main post office in the city and country where I estimated I might be next. I know that she deeply loved me. How she must have worried! Thinking, as a parent, how she must have felt, caused me to feel great empathy for her. If I would have known this back then, I might have written more often, but it took becoming a parent to really understand how deeply rooted love could become.
Empathy is a great gift, but it is a gift capable of causing great pain. In fact, in my life, at least, it seems to more often bring pain than pleasure. When my sons are doing well, I rejoice but I also become less concerned. However, when they are going through difficult times, that’s when the empathy pops out. I wouldn’t have it any other way, for it is a manifestation of imperishable love.
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