This I believe...

Driving home last night, while listening to NPR, I heard the following essay by Jim Haynes. It was one of those moments that make you stop and think about all of the beauty of life and humanity that we regularly pass by without consideration.

" Every week for the past 30 years, I've hosted a Sunday dinner in my home in Paris. People, including total strangers, call or e-mail to book a spot. I hold the salon in my atelier, which used to be a sculpture studio. The first 50 or 60 people who call may come, and twice that many when the weather is nice and we can overflow into the garden.

Every Sunday a different friend prepares a feast. Last week it was a philosophy student from Lisbon, and next week a dear friend from London will cook.

People from all corners of the world come to break bread together, to meet, to talk, connect and often become friends. All ages, nationalities, races, professions gather here, and since there is no organized seating, the opportunity for mingling couldn't be better. I love the randomness.

I believe in introducing people to people.

I have a good memory, so each week I make a point to remember everyone's name on the guest list and where they're from and what they do, so I can introduce them to each other, effortlessly. If I had my way, I would introduce everyone in the whole world to each other.

People are most important in my life. Many travelers go to see things like the Tower of London, the Statue of Liberty, the Eiffel Tower and so on. I travel to see friends, even — or especially — those I've never met.

In the late '80s, I edited a series of guidebooks to nine Eastern European countries and Russia. There were no sights to see, no shops or museum to visit; instead, each book contained about 1,000 short biographies of people who would be willing to welcome travelers in their cities. Hundreds of friendships evolved from these encounters, including marriages and babies.

This same can be said for my Sunday salon. At a recent dinner, a 6-year-old girl from Bosnia spent the entire evening glued to an 8-year-old boy from Estonia. Their parents were surprised, and pleased, by this immediate friendship.

There is always a collection of people from all over the globe. Most of them speak English, at least as a second language. Recently a dinner featured a typical mix: a Dutch political cartoonist, a beautiful painter from Norway, a truck driver from Arizona, a bookseller from Atlanta, a newspaper editor from Sydney, students from all over, and traveling retirees.

I have long believed that it is unnecessary to understand others, individuals or nationalities; one must, at the very least, simply tolerate others. Tolerance can lead to respect and, finally, to love. No one can ever really understand anyone else, but you can love them or at least accept them.

Like Tom Paine, I am a world citizen. All human history is mine. My roots cover the earth.

I believe we should know each other. After all, our lives are all connected.

OK, now come and dine."

You can also listen to Jim Haynes read the essay at http://www.npr.org/templates/story

A Lesson From Jung

I recall a few years ago listening to a recorded interview of Carl Jung. In it he was talking about the four archetypes and first-loves. According to Jung, the first time or perhaps the first couple of times that we fall in love, we are usually not falling in love with the specific person of our affection, but rather an archetypal figure. In doing so we strip the person we love of their humanity and raise them to essentially, a Godly status. This would be all well and good with our partner simply basking in reverence, except of course, that they are still human and, as such, are bound to make human mistakes. When the mistakes occur our reverie is shattered and the image of the perfect archetypal figure we love is broken. At this point the relationship usually ends because we are unable to find the same affection ignited by the actual person now that their pedestal has been stripped away.

While I can recall my pre-teen self falling into these very traps that Jung articulates, it has only occurred to me recently that although I am older, I am still not free of falling for the archetype. The pinnacle of this revelation happened just this past week, but the base of it extends back about four years ago.

When I started going to the University I am currently studying at in 2004, one of my first classes was Cultural Anthropology. The professor of this class was/is amazing. He is able to cultivate emotions in the student body better than anyone else I have ever met, and wield those emotions to both empower and enliven his students. I was simply in awe, and some part of me fell in love--not in the typical romantic context of the term, but love nonetheless. I loved his compassion. I loved his knowledge, and I loved how he could hold so much power and yet remain so seemingly humble. It seemed...well, Godly. Here was the fatherly, wise old man archetype, and I fell for it. Perhaps it is because not having an active father-role in my own life meant that I was looking specifically for that type of figure, or perhaps this particular professor just has that kind of impact on students, I honestly don't know, but either way I came running in with a pedestal.

It was not until a couple of years later when I was teaching for the same professor that I realized, like me, he was human. After watching his well-concealed emotions surface in ways that could in no way be considered elegant, the archetype began to crack. At once I was caught up in a glimpse of truth and the now distorted image of someone that I had previously found no fault in. I didn't know how to reconcile my feelings of disappointment. I even felt deceived or tricked by my professor to believe that he was something more than what he was.

Instead of looking up to him, I started to see him as manipulative. All of my previous feelings were mirrored back to me with equal amounts of distrust and wariness, where trust and awe was previously. In a lot of ways I behaved immaturely, just like Jung's explanation of someone falling in love for the first time. By stripping my professor of his humanity, I imposed impossible standards that no one could ever live up to, and when he failed as any other human would, I held it against him. I am not sure how to approach the situation now except to work little by little at reshaping my perspective from the ground up. Fortunately, from all of this I have realized more poignantly than ever that the most loving thing we can do for each other is to see them, not what we hope they are or who we think they should be, but simply see them. In choosing to see fully the people I love, I acknowledge their humanity and grant them the right to make mistakes without the liklihood that my love would be relinquished. I also spare myself the loss of an illusion along with the ensuing disappointment and embarrassment that follows the acknowledgment that you fell for a facade.