Competition, Vulnerability and Why I’m Still Crying

November 5th, 2008

I followed a link this morning that promised me “The saddest thing you’ll see all day.” Why exactly I would want to expose myself to more sad things, or sadder things than I’d already seen and felt recently, I couldn’t tell you. But I clicked it and saw this:

I cried for that. I cried because even though I don’t support his politics, I think that Ron Paul stands for something, that he believes totally in the things he’s standing for and that he doesn’t waver from them. Even though what he’s doing isn’t resonating with most Americans, he thinks it should and he stays true to that thought. Standing firm in your beliefs, acting on your principles even when they’re unpopular and benefit you nothing, that’s one of the only things I find admirable in other people.

I cried for Ron Paul because his body language presents him as vulnerable and yet somehow stubbornly resolute in his defeat. I cried because he looked like the most alone man in the world, and I wanted to hug him. I cried because his shoes broke my heart.

I hate competition. I hate sports. I hate the Olympics. I hate trivia night and lawn darts and fantasy football. I hate television ratings. I hate that someone gets chosen last for kickball. I hate the idea of defeat. I hate for anyone to ever lose at anything.

Last night watching his concession speech I felt sorry for John McCain, because I believe he was fighting for what he believed in, and he was confounded by his country’s rejection of him. I felt sorry for Sarah Palin because I imagined she might have the grace to feel humiliated by her ignorance and the resounding message we sent her about it. Today I felt sorry for George Bush, imagining what it must feel like to know that the entire globe can’t wait to celebrate your absence.

I understand that these people can’t have what they want – the world is better off for their losing power. But I feel for them anyway.

My indiscriminate and overwhelming empathy for everyone and everything doesn’t benefit me, it only makes me feel as if I have no layer of protection between me and the entirety of the world’s pain. It makes me feel crazy, absorbing the broken dreams of everyone I see and experiencing them as if they were mine.

I cried for Ron Paul today, because I don’t think anyone should ever have to feel alone and abandoned and unsupported. I don’t want anyone to feel that they’re misunderstood, or that they’ve done their best and shown the world their soul but the world said “meh.” I want everyone’s dreams to come true, even when they’re in conflict with mine. I want everyone to win. That’s why the world breaks my heart, and why I am still crying today even though last night’s election went the way I so desperately wanted.

I just wish we all could have won—and I hope that we did.

Filed under: personal ramblings, political | Comments (2)

2 Responses to “Competition, Vulnerability and Why I’m Still Crying”

Zansetsue on November 6, 2008 2:58 pm
I hope you always hang on to your compassion, and are proud of it. Sure it hurts. It’s always easier to demonize your opponent and call them names, because it strips away their humanity and helps you forget everything that you might have in common. But having the strength to feel for our opponent, even as we oppose them, is the only honorable and constructive way to deal with people in the end.
Heidi on November 9, 2008 11:46 am
I love you.

You suffer from what I call “a horrible excess of empathy.” I do too. I cry over almost everything. I guess it’s a positive personality trait, but it’s a hard way to live.

It’s like that Don MacLean song, Vincent (Starry Starry Night), where he says “This world was never meant for one As beautiful as you.” I’m not a huge fan of the music, but I like the words. It just reminds me that sensitivity and empathy are rewarded with pain and aching. And you have to decide if it’s worth it. But I can’t imagine another way to live.