The Compatibility of Kindness

Whenever I say or do something unskillful, my first hope is that no one notices. Hat trick. 

But let’s say that happens - no one notices. What then? Then, I have to notice. And I need to call myself out. With humor, hopefully – after all, this 'being human' is an imperfect thing - but yes, call myself out.

Which means that until the day I’m no longer unskillful, which is probably not ever coming, I won’t get beyond reproach. 

Which feels cringey. But also, true, and like a relief.

For me, forgiveness is possible in many cases but in this heart, not all. Not all, yet, anyway.

 I wish I could forgive the people who caused me grave harm. Because not doing that feels like allowing something to fester.

 Underneath not-forgiving, I can feel dread. But about what? That not-forgiving is hurting me, or someone I love? That the people who caused me harm didn’t know, and so obviously merit forgiveness? That they knew but didn’t understand what a terrible thing they were doing, and so at least deserve the benefit of the doubt?

 At the very least, I can forgive myself for not forgiving. Maybe you can do that, too, if forgiveness is challenging for you. It’s a start.

I want to be loving. I want to not separate people into camps: worthy of my love, not worthy of my love. 

Because who am I to decide? No matter what someone has done, no matter their views or even their actions, why would I want to hate them? All that does is create a hole in my heart. 

And yet so often, I parse. This person is good, this person is not. This person is giving me what I need, or want, this person is not. This person – in my estimation – is contributing to the world. This person is not. 

What if my own heart were big enough to see the humanity in each person, and bow just to that? Not to their mistakes, their selfishness, their crimes. Just to their humanity. What if we could all do that? What would the law look like? How about the world?

For sure I want all the goodies. And I’m pretty convinced that when I finally get them (or when I notice I already have them, if I do ever notice), then I’ll be happy. 

And for sure, life doesn’t work like that. The coach passengers want business class seats, business wants first, and first wants a charter. I have no idea what people who own planes want, but you get the point: wanting, grasping for the brass ring, ending up with the goodies. The good old American dream.

But what if it’s not? What if there’s something even better than that particular American dream, available to us whenever we finally let go of the wanting? Whenever we finally stop grasping for the brass ring and make do, joyfully, with our old silver band? I’m not there yet, so there’s that. But it sure seems like a better direction.

When things go wrong in my life, I tend to think about…me. When things go well, I tend to think about…me, again. I, me, mine. As humans, we’re hardwired for that. Maybe it’s how we protect ourselves. Maybe it’s one way we teach our kids to protect themselves. Maybe it's helped our species survive (or has it?).

What if we thought of others instead, in both instances? What if, when something went well – in our practice, in the law, in our lives - we thought, oh, I have enough. I have plenty. I’m sending this good thing, this good energy, to my friends, my family, my colleagues. To people I don’t even know. To my enemies! To all the humans. All beings. What if we did that?

And what if, when things went wrong, we did less “I, me, mine-ing?” And instead, thought of everyone else going through something similar, and wished them ease and wellbeing? Or just remembered what Ram Dass said: that we’re all just walking each other home?

Happiness Without a Hangover
 

I would love to take credit for that title but it’s from Pema Chodron’s book, The Places That Scare You.  What I think she means is, happiness that’s different from me saying, I won my case! I closed the deal! I got a new coat! Have a glass of champagne!

What I think she means is, happiness that I’m here, on the earth, breathing, writing this note. Happiness that this moment exists, and that I’m right here, paying attention, and not wishing things were different. 

Which feels huge, this ability to scan not for danger but joy, and to locate joy, even though the judge is intense or someone is shouting or I’m overwhelmed. I wonder what would happen if we all practiced that kind of joy, just for one day, together…without getting the win, or the coat, or the drink. 

Happiness, without a hangover. Sounds pretty sweet to me.

Mostly I’m breathing for myself. But sometimes it feels like the world could use a breath. Things feel tight, the suffering in the room or on the planet seems palpable, and I wonder if I can help.

 I wonder if I can help by breathing in for everyone, taking in the intensity, the hardship, the suffering, as if they’re mine. As if all suffering is mine – and ours. And then breathing out peace in place of the suffering. Breathing in sorrow and breathing out peace, over and over again.

 I wonder what would happen if everyone did that. Would anything change? Maybe. Maybe everything would change, and, as the poet Juan Jimenez once wrote, we’d be sitting in the middle of our new life.

Who are your scariest demons? Mine are the people who scare me in the courtroom, in the conference room, on the news, on the ballot. 

Those are my scariest external demons, but my scariest internal demons are different. Or maybe there’s only one: fear. But not fear itself: fear of the world’s pain and suffering. Or more accurately, fear of how it might feel to step into the midst of that pain and let it touch me. 

I mean, I can step in and not let it touch me. I have great defenses. But letting that pain touch me? For me, I think that’s the scariest thing.

And so, maybe it’s time to go there. Because if that’s my scariest thing, I’d better.

Are you coming?

It’s a conundrum to me when I imagine befriending everyone. How would that even work in the law? Shakespeare’s instruction notwithstanding, how is it possible to strive to the end and then call my adversary friend? 

Even more challenging, how can I learn to relate to my frustration and grief with friendliness? When all I really want is for it to stop?

And yet this is the path of the warrior. What a paradox.  

Sure, we’re all warriors in the law. We fight the good fight (and sometimes the bad).

But what if, in every fight, we could abandon all weapons except wisdom and compassion? Would we still win our cases? Would our clients come back for more?

This is my inquiry for a 2024 that feels just a little bit short on wisdom and compassion. What do you think? Are you willing to be patient, not know if this will work but try it, and in doing that, maybe, someday, co-create and live into a future different from the one we seem to be barreling towards now?