“Let no man pull you low enough to hate him.”
— Martin Luther King Jr.
It is a special day. Today we celebrate my son’s 4th birthday. It is also the day we remember and honor Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and his contribution to humanity. There is so much inspiration to find in the words and work of Dr. King, but this year, these particular words strike a big chord. In recent weeks, I had been confronted by a situation that challenged my ability to honor one of my deepest values — compassion. Some weeks ago, I received an angry, vitriolic attack via email from someone I worked with in a workshop. The email was inappropriate, inaccurate and threatening. I was simultaneously terrified and outraged. I hated this man!
For a few days, I licked my wounds and indulged my fear and anger at this passive-aggressive terrorist, knowing that somewhere in this experience is what I have learned to refer to as an “AFGO” — Another Fucking Growth Opportunity. It had something to do with the fact that my hatred wasn’t serving me. And that lead me to something deeper.
One of my deepest beliefs is that we are all souls on a journey, each deserving of compassion. So the question then becomes: How can I hate my attacker and still have compassion for him? Well...I can't. I can hate what he did, but I cannot hate him. I also believe that we are connected in ways our minds cannot fully fathom. So having compassion for him is also having compassion for a part of myself.
This might sound a bit heady and abstract, but as soon as I came to these realizations, I wanted to hug my attacker. What a small, wounded person he really was to be able to lash out that way. Suddenly, his email had nothing to do with me. Not a thing! I just happened to be the witness of a testimony to his own suffering in himself. My fist unclenched and my heart opened.
So if the proof is in the pudding, this past weekend was a big bowl of tapioca. It was the last in our series of workshops and this man and I had to coexist in the same room for 3 full days. We had not communicated at all since the attack. Being in the room wasn't easy. At first, I felt scared and vulnerable. As the time passed, we silently negotiated our space with each other. It seemed that he softened a bit and I offered an olive branch. He didn't take it and I didn't hug him. But the space in my heart that might have been occupied by hatred, was instead filled with deep learning and gratitude for the opportunity to grow.