Tag: Empathy

Searching for Middle Ground. What would Frank Do?

My father, Frank, with just the shirt on his back, fled communist Hungary in 1956 after the failed revolt against the Russians. The Hungarian’s peaceful protest and message in opposition of the communist protocols was met with tanks and bullets.

On October 23,1956 the Hungarian Revolution was born.

At age 21, after 18 days of Russian supremacy and thousands of lost lives, my father abruptly left his country, family and the only life he knew in search of freedom and democracy. He spent 6 weeks in an Austrian refugee camp before being granted a visa to come to America.

statue of liberty
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The home of the free and land of the brave where all were embraced and welcomed. Liberty and justice for all.

It is extremely synchronistic that I was moved to write this on November 10, 2024. It turns out, November 10th was the 68th anniversary of the Hungarians claiming defeat to the Russians and 36th anniversary of when my father did. I was hours into my thoughts before I connected my writing motives with the dates.

I am still trying to reconcile my feelings. Today, yesterday, and the days before, I have been left wondering, What would Frank do?

Frank Kalapos circa 1958 in America

I am speechless, yet full of words. I feel betrayed yet embraced. I am terrified, sad, disappointed, worried, and extremely pensive. I am juggling the most consequential thoughts of my life and haven’t felt this disjointed since embracing the angst of my sexuality.

Clearly, Frank has moved me to these words despite my staunch resistance to speak to anything political or religious on this blog, yet here I go.

After sacrificing every last thing, my father immersed himself in America. He embraced freedom, patriotism, and democracy. He recognized what a gift it was and never took it for granted.

The lens through which he saw life, people, culture, and the differences that walked among them, was open and welcoming. His judgement-free, inclusive and open minded ways were the foundation of my early influences and enabled me to view the world through open eyes.

It was never explained, it just was.

My father’s best friend was a flamboyant German immigrant. He was gay. My brother and I shared our best friend, Tyrone. He was black. We didn’t know the German was gay and we didn’t know Tyrone’s blackness could be of consequence. It just didn’t matter.

Tyrone, Me and Steve circa 1972

He marched in the July 4th parade in Venice, CA.

He encouraged us at the Hare Krishna Festival on Venice Beach in the 70’s to learn and understand other’s religious perspectives.

He waived the American flag as the Olympic torch ran through the streets of L.A. in the summer of 1984.

He raised us to be open minded, inclusive, compassionate, and empathetic souls. He encouraged us to do the right thing even when it wasn’t popular. He guided us through his example and let us find our way.

He listened.

He challenged perspectives through the influence of understanding and respect. He knew it wasn’t a democracy if we were all on the same page. He believed opposites could find middle ground and he could bridge the gap of the largest crevasse with eloquence.

He was such a gift.

So here we are again, What would Frank do?

He would think we are making a Mockery Against Great America. He would be struggling to understand the callus, divisive, hateful, and misguided energy that so emboldens us against each other.

He definitely would not want us to relinquish freedoms we have earned and enjoyed for generations, rather ease up on our convoluted consequential convictions. He would want us to find middle ground, each conceding equally.  

He wouldn’t wallow in the mire. Frank would want me to hang on to hope even in the face of betrayal, hurt and disappointment. It doesn’t right the wrong through those from whom I feel betrayed, rather shifts my energy in a more positive light.

Clearly, his energy is turning over in his grave as it pushes my pen.

Trust me, I am trying to get my glass half full!

I am trying to step over the crevasse before it sucks me in!

I am squinting to find the light at the end of the tunnel!

To my far right friends, I know you, I see you and I love you. I knew what I was stepping into and I chose to stay. It is as innately who you are, as it is innately not who I am, but I chose to stay despite our differences. I see that your choice is for you and not against me.

I am trying to remain hopeful that the consequences of those beliefs do not haunt us for generations to come.

I guess time will tell.

Unfortunately, it is where hypocrisy thrives that my issues remain. Duplicity, talking out of both sides of your mouth, saying one thing then doing another. Spin it as you will… that is where I feel betrayed, hurt and gutted.

Like, how could you?

I have a lot at stake as will many in our society. If making America great infringes on our inalienable rights, is it really that great?

RIP Dad, thank you for putting it in perspective for me.

Frank E. Kalapos – February 12, 1934 – November 10, 1988

Until You Walk in Someone Else’s Shoes

I was fortunate to be brought into this world by two non-conformists. My mother, the self-proclaimed black sheep of her family, and my free spirited, laisse-faire father and his judgement-free ways shared in the catalyst that formed the lens through which I see the world.

As a kid, my mother had the innate ability to steer a rudderless ship. Even with her eyes closed.

Her guidance provided the perfectly blended combination of suggestive influence and necessary discipline. I presented many challenges yet with the same honor and grace, she helped me find my way.

There is a fine balance between overbearing influence resulting in rebellion, and the subtlety of firm support that steers one down their own path. It was a guided path I felt like I found on my own.

Pure brilliance.

Most certainly a rebuff to his communist roots, my father was the epitome of a non-conformist.  He chose a life free of all encumberments – clothes, rules and boundaries among them.

When he moved to Venice, California in the 1970’s the atmosphere, community and countless wayward souls perfectly suited his non-conformist ways. If the antithesis of communist Hungary existed, it was the melting pot in Venice, CA.

My parents blended influence, both in commonality and difference, shaped my attitudes about the values of non-conformity, individuality, inclusion, compassion, respect, and kindness. Collectively, they paved the path to my open minded inclusive ways.

I’m not sure the exact moment in time I fully understood and appreciated the value of their example, I certainly lived it before I knew there was value to be found.

Growing up I didn’t know people thought differently. Our summers on Venice Beach leveled the playing field. So many layers of inequality seemingly equal.

If we are all clones of each other, it would truly suck being bombarded by mirror images all day, every day.

Surely, we agree on that.

Social media, the sensationalized news, and the will of the closed minded jeopardize the value of our collective uniqueness. It is difficult to move about the planet without feeling jaded or apathetic or indifferent when the distant purview = the same old shit.

But, if something has value, it is not an endless resource or the same old shit. Its significance doesn’t dilute rather represents a position or vision of importance. If the color gray is a blend of black and white it is still rooted in the specificity of the individual colors.

If inclusion and acceptance are a blend of you and me, it can still be rooted in our differences. It is subjective and fluid. If we are not clones, our shoes are worn and wear differently.

group of people standing on pavement
Photo by Tirachard Kumtanom on Pexels.com

The ability to walk in some else’s shoes with compassion, empathy and an open minded eye of inclusion is rooted in our differences but thrives in experiences we share in common.

So, what level of difference is accepted? Does that change when the shoes land at your doorstep?

If we are equally entitled to our freedom and independence then shan’t we be able to move about freely?

Respect given is respect gained.

Free to be you and free to be me.

Happy 248th birthday America.

Suicide – It may be Closer than You Think

This post will be as difficult to read as it has been to write but we must prevail in the name of support for those struggling with their own mental health.

Please don’t shy away.

I recently compiled a list so troubling that I am having difficulty sleeping.

The recent loss of an acquaintance to suicide led me down this path. A path that ends with abrupt devastation.

On the outside, this person seemingly had everything. She was smart, savvy, humble and worthy. She was a spouse, mother, grandmother, friend, mentor, employer, and community advocate.

We breathed the same air. We walked in common space. We shared cheerful words. We bonded over barbells and burpees. We exchanged smiles and contact information. We looked down the same road but saw its end at a different intersection.

Sadly, what appeared on the outside is not what lived on the inside.

Where are the signs? How do we find them? What can we do?

I always say, “Perception is reality.” Is it in the realm of suicide?

When we lose someone famous, we gasp in despair while scratching our heads wondering why someone who couldn’t possibly want for anything, die at their own hand.

Clearly, perception is not reality when the turmoil on the inside can be disguised by accolades, fame, the perfect family, the perfect career, beautiful smiles, and warm hellos. The projection of normalcy keeps us at a distance that we can’t see or perceive.

How can we navigate the quagmire to extend a lifeline, offer support or help?

My beautiful friend was so close and yet so far.

She joins 6 other friends or family that I know personally who seemed to ‘have it all’ but could no longer face their internal torment. Imagine the vast magnitude of darkness, anguish and despair so broad and unmanageable that it extinguishes such brilliant lightness in all of them.

Devastating.

Why can’t we see such dark despair on the outside when it pervades so powerfully on the inside?

Suicide prevention must be congruent with mental wellness and human connection. As our society continues to isolate itself in the name of absolutes, we exacerbate the turmoil and disconnect from those who feel different or troubled or wounded or lacking in some perceived way by the global masses.

988 The Suicide and Crisis Lifeline (formerly The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline), receives over 2 million calls a year. It’s difficult for me to quantify that number. Imagine how many struggling souls don’t make that call.

Everyone should be entitled to be free of the encumberments of judgement and angst and the perceived isolation that it generates. If we didn’t stigmatize depression or other mental crisis’s just maybe the 7 people in my life would be living and breathing today.

It troubles me greatly when I hear others lament about suicide as thoughtless and selfish or short sighted and feeble, that they didn’t try hard enough to be happy or hopeful.

We all need to be accountable to those around us by embracing their individuality and engaging in supportive wellness, not only for the others in our lives but for ourselves.  

Until you walk in someone else’s shoes. Leave the judgment behind because those shoes just might end up on your door step.

Loss survivors of suicide live in their own torment. In the cross hairs of shame, guilt, grief, sorrow, helplessness, and an insurmountable anguish. The list of questions we carry will never be answered and the abrupt loss remains with us indefinitely.

It changed me forever. Now I see things others don’t and say things they shy from.

I don’t have the answers, I live in the wake of the ship as it sinks to the bottom grasping for reasons why it sank in the first place. If only there was a telling sign or symbol that could indicate crisis and distress alerting those close enough to make a difference.

I imagine compassion, courtesy, kindness, empathy, understanding, inclusion, acceptance, expression, forgiveness, vulnerability, and trust, just might be the olive branch, the extension of peace, the bridge that narrows the gap, the love and connection that heals and ultimately suffocates the demons.

They are all cherished souls whose lives we need. Suicide may be closer than you think, we must band together to suffocate the demons.

BeThe1To.com outlines 5 steps we can all take if we encounter someone who may be suicidal.

You just might save a life.

#BeThe1To Ask, Be There, Keep Them Safe, Help Them Connect, Follow Up.

Breaking Bread with Dead People

When you think of the commonalities you share with another person, what comes to mind? Most likely, things like interests, hobbies and passions.

Can we bridge the gap in areas of emotional distress? Why can’t we talk about death or tragedy without people feeling sorry for us or reluctant to welcome a difficult conversation?

Common tragedies bring people together from a sense of knowing. Compassion, empathy and patience are automatic.

The more we talk, the more we gather, the more we grow.

I would be remiss without referencing the inspirational, M. Scott Peck’s poignant words from The Road Less Traveled,  “…we must live with the knowledge that death is our constant companion traveling on our left shoulder.” Important words for the future whether you have lived through a significant death or not.

I originally wrote this in the summer of 2021 after lunch with two former high school classmates. I was so troubled and moved by their shared tragedy, I went home to write this for them.

Sadly, in the time since that day, there are other friends who, tragically and with great despair, have reluctantly joined the club.

This is for anyone who has lost a child.

I recently shared a meal with some high school mates among whom time and distance has put a few decades of space between. Life happens and so does death. How did we move from the bleachers of our high school gym to a table in a restaurant discussing the death of each of their sons?

Catching up on our years since takes a vastly different direction when one has lost a child. I only know this from afar because not only have I never lost a child, I do not have one to lose. In the reminiscent realm of these gatherings, ‘yea, me too’ is not something one might consider hoping to share.

I do know death intimately, though. We are old acquaintances. I have felt the air sucking deflation of every ounce of purpose and faith.  When I met death, disguised as hope and a glimmering light, it felt like falling off a cliff waiting for the bone crushing end that continued in perpetuity.

A bone crushing crash that never ends. Yes, can you imagine?

This is a path where second guessing intersects why me. A winding path full of questions that offer no answers and ends in a place where the entrance to the club requires a secret handshake.

They know the nature of fragility. They met at a dead end road.

They remain in turmoil while they stumble towards peace. They seem to rationalize the absence but not the loss.

How does one even reconcile the loss of a child?

How does one not say, ‘God should have taken me?’

They have asked those questions but find no answers. They choose to live despite them. They know time fleets, wanes and is a gift wrapped in a constantly unraveling bow. 

As an empathetic spectator, it moved me to witness the grace with which they each shared their grief and pain, and ultimate compassion for the other’s loss. A sense of knowing that doesn’t emerge until you walk in another’s shoes.

Interestingly, they both attended the Catholic elementary school together but admittedly struggled finding solace in their faith. I imagine a loss so great cannot be reconciled in any form intended to comfort.

It is there that we break bread with dead people. Where shared tragedy bridges decades long gaps instantly exchanging what truly matters, for what truly does not. Tomorrow isn’t what it will be without yesterday. Forward our only choice.

My old acquaintance taught me this, and apparently, it taught my friends the same.

Perhaps, this club is not for everyone. It requires great strength, resilience and fortitude to enter and stay, but true unwavering perseverance to leave, to seek and find peace, to hope and breathe again, and ultimately, to find the parachute’s cord before the bone crushing end.

If you know someone who has lost a child, meet them at the dead end road. Welcome a difficult conversation. Check in, be present, listen and support.

If you are the surviving parent, keep them close. Live within, through and beyond their absence and loss, ‘always traveling on your left shoulder.’

Peace and love for a memorable, reflective and joyous Thanksgiving to all.

What the ‘F’ is Wrong with People?!? 2.0

When I wrote my first blog post ‘What the ‘F’ is Wrong with People?’, it was in the aftermath of one of our country’s mass shootings. I was doing the dishes and became so distraught that I found a pen and a piece of paper to release my worried mind. I had no intention of conceiving a series around it.

Can you imagine having enough material for a blog series titled, ‘What the ‘F’ is Wrong with People?’?

Sadly, in our culture of late, it’s the gift that keeps on giving. I couldn’t possibly speculate the source of the malicious angst and venom that some people feel free to spew relentlessly but there is a definitive shift in how we treat each other.

Recently, I had a troubling conversation with a friend who works in education. She has encountered something so distressing that she has taken medical leave and is considering stepping aside from her career for her last two years as an educator.

Really?!?! Are you frickin kidding me? This is what we do to people?

What can you imagine is so egregious that it might result in such an outcome? What could push someone to the brink who has spent her career in education as a principal, teacher, mentor, and tutor?

She has two master’s degrees in education: one in literacy as a reading specialist and the other in administration. She has an endorsement to teach English as a second language and currently works in the private sector educating educators.  Need I go on?

Any guesses? We have a winner… bullying!

What the ‘F’ is Wrong with People?!?

These are not children on a playground (an equally hideous ritual) but grown frickin adults! How does a bully move through their career and remain in a position of authority?

My dear troubled friend is on leave in support of her mental health. This disturbs me so greatly, especially because she is on the other side of the country out of my supportive reach. Ultimately, if she steps away, the bully wins and the students lose. Or do they?

Let’s peel this back for a moment, shall we?

Bullies are weak, insecure, narcissistic a-holes that find their odd twisted insidious power belittling, demeaning, undermining, berating, shaming, and embarrassing others to feel superior. Did I overlook anything?

Their moral void so vast, the victims are cast aside at every corner.

Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Does that mean we give bullies consent, or do they prey on those who are sensitive, empathetic, compassionate, and emotionally curious? The precise type of person we want to educate our children!!

Sadly, by nature, educators’ gifts of emotional curiosity, concern and care are fodder for bullies.

Their gifts = their detriments.

Can’t we have a 12 step program for the bullying narcissistic a-holes of the world? Or perhaps, there is a small plot of land in Siberia suitable for the venom oozing a-holes.

Typically, I do not wish ill of others, even the a-holes of the world because their due shall come, but when the circumstance extenuates beyond the realm of reason it is time for drastic measures.

Since Siberia is likely off the table, we all need to stand in support of the next victim as the bully rounds the corner. Help them regain their power and not concede to inferiority. Their gifts should not be to their detriment but rather to their, and everyone else’s, benefit.

My friend may step aside, she may not. Hopefully, either way she gets her power back and protects her mental health. If she does step away, she leaves an accomplished and successful career in the name of her wellbeing a mere two years early.

Her legacy is worthy. Time to share her gifts where she can shine.

Peace out mother-fing bullies!

What the ‘F’ is Wrong with People?!?

The author reflects on the importance of self-reflection, compassion, and critical thinking in navigating life’s challenges. Drawing from experiences as a refugee’s daughter and observing the impact of diversity, she underscores the importance of co-existing amidst differences and challenges the avoidance of meaningful discussions in favor of harmful actions. She also highlights compassion and empathy as vital to understanding different perspectives, and encourages accepting diversity and individuality.

I stopped watching the sensationalized news years ago. Unfortunately, there is no escaping the onslaught of the despicable and their fallacious or malicious ways. I am perfectly fallible ambling through life hoping and trying not to be. Is there any other way? We all make mistakes and I have made my share. Like slippery ice on the sidewalk that sneaks up on you before you realize you are already on the ground writhing in pain.

Sometimes I don’t see the ice. Other times I see it glistening from miles away but keep walking in that direction. What draws us to the wrong direction? Hope or Hate? Hope that we might be able to sidestep the ice in the distance. Or hate for the ice and whoever the ‘F’ put it there. Both choices lead us down the wrong path but one teaches us how to avoid slipping in the future while the other perpetuates the inevitable. It’s clearly out of our control and someone else’s ‘F’ing problem not mine.

close up of the hands of a young couple
Photo by Alexander Mass on Pexels.com

How did we become incapable of self reflection, critical thinking, objective decision making and most importantly, loving thy ‘F’ing neighbor?! If you could walk 10 feet beyond every choice you made before you actually took the steps, would you? Is your opinion or action really that important if the hurt it projects, real or perceived, not only crushes your audience but chips at your own soul?

As the daughter of a political refugee, I was exposed to different cultures, ethnicities and skin colors through a lens that projected everyone as equals. I guess, when you have fought for your freedom and have walked in other’s shoes judgement is irrelevant and unnecessary. At the time, I didn’t realize the value of my father’s worldly ways and the broader exposure it supported. A true gift lived by example.

As I grew older, I witnessed the contradiction to this gift as it shed a bright and luminous light on the consequence of our collective actions, good and bad. How did we become a collection of diversity now needing to be like everyone else? Why do we kill people that don’t share our beliefs? Why do we kill children before they can form theirs’? Why do we reach for a gun instead of objective reflection? Critical thinking with a serving of rational understanding in the name of acceptance for why your opinion matters. A simple recipe best served without a measuring cup.  

Can’t we just agree to disagree? I saw somewhere recently that anger will shorten your life by 15 years. Hmmm, die early or be happy and kind. Not much of a stretch there. Life would truly suck if we stood as mirror images of each other. Qualities that are different and unique are the antithesis of ambiguity for a reason. Why be ambiguous or indifferent when you can stand proudly in your spoken or unspoken individuality without risk of retribution.

The project, Marlo Thomas and Friends message of inclusion from 1972 coined the simplicity of coexisting amid diversity Free to be You and Me. The 21st century version re-sung by Sara Bareilles in 2020 is linked below. Check it out!

Expanding our horizons is not about clearing the trees, rather seeing the beauty among and beyond them. You be you and I will be me. Embrace the ugly, different and outspoken the same way you might hug your puppy after he took a runny, messy poop all over your new living room rug.

Compassion and Empathy for All! #CEforAll