She was crying into the phone asking for money to help rebuild her life. I didn’t want to hear it but I’d already sat down and ordered when she came in with her dog and sat facing me.
I knew her. But she didn’t make eye contact. She never did when we’d casually notice each other. Tulum’s still a small town. She’d tried to con money from me when she was a drug addict. Surprisingly, I hadn’t allowed it. So now it seems I’m the bad guy. Funny how that works. Anyway, she didn’t say hello and neither did I. It was ok.
Until she started speaking into her phone so loudly I couldn’t help but hear her pleading with the person on the other end for a loan. She didn’t seem to care that I heard every single word. But it made me uncomfortable.
As I waited for breakfast, it got worse. Por favor, Solamente 30000 para ayudarme a construir una palapa y después no tengo que pagar renta. On and on. I felt sorry for her. And more sorry for me, having to witness it. In my culture, we don’t make scenes. We swallow our difficulties and brace up. But there she was, next to me, slobbering into the phone until the person on the other end hung up. She demanded, Bueno? Bueno? Bueno? until finally she let the phone fall to the table, dejected. Her dog licked her leg and she reached down to pat him as tears stained her face.
It’s been a rough year economically all around in Tulum. Money isn’t moving. Small businesses are going under. Independent workers are leaving town. It’s been a bit of a crisis and she was obviously feeling the pinch. As I stood to leave I had this uncanny desire to give her a hug and tell her things would be ok. “Too weird,” I told myself. But the desire insisted. “Talk about making a scene,” my inner critic scolded. Nevertheless, as I walked past her on my way out, I asked her, Te puedo dar un abrazo? “Can I give you a hug?”
She looked up at me suspiciously as I leaned in to give her a long hug and whispered, Todo va a cambiar, seguramente. Vas a estar bien. She didn’t acknowledge anything but she did hold me for a second. I stood and repeated that everything would change, that she would be ok.
As I walked away, I noticed I felt better. I wasn’t happier or anything. I just felt better, lighter. Following my instinct to connect with another being in pain did it.
It’s so rare we allow ourselves that luxury, to empathize and act on the empathy. And even rarer we do it for our own species. Much easier to rescue a wounded animal than to acknowledge a wounded human. But I tried it and it worked.
Think about trying that this Thanksgiving. I mean, Isn’t that what it’s all about? Celebrating Native Americans rescuing shipwrecked souls who were wounded? That unprecedented moment in history: people rescuing people who had washed up on shore.
If you need proof that it works (leave all the pain and suffering that from colonialism that most likely would have happened regardless) take a look at what it’s created in our culture: the ability to come together and share. The ability to bring food to people you don’t know and may never meet again. The desire to help someone, if only for a day, rise above their circumstances and feel ok.
It doesn’t get better than that.
Happy Thanksgiving.