Each of these celebrities died of mental illness. Everyone knew about their addictions and their struggles. And each of these celebrity deaths was commented upon (by strangers who never met them in real life) in the same ways:
Can you believe it?
They were so funny.
They brought so much joy to so many people, I can’t believe they were so unhappy.
You’d think they would have finally kicked the addictions.
They always seemed so happy.
I guess that show business is a really tough life.
You’d think they would have reached out sooner.
It’s funny, in losing them I feel like I lost a loved one.
It’s easy to have compassion for a celebrity after they have passed. We have only seen the surface, without the messy complicated human ickiness that lays beneath the (PR-polished) image that they show. We don’t have to live with them after the set closes for the day, or the morning after the awards banquet. We didn’t have to grow up with them as they sought out coping methods all along the spectra of efficacy and healthiness.
Still, we grieve them as if we knew them, and regret that there wasn’t someone to throw them a lifeline before it was too late.
But if you truly believe all humans are equal, then I have good news for you.
Everyone said similar things about these celebrities:
They were kind.
They made people laugh.
They were beautiful, in body and soul.
They were talented.
They were popular.
They had families who loved them.
They made the world a better place.
I bet you know someone, in fact I hope you know several someones, like this.
I bet these humans whom you know with these characteristics feel exactly like Matthew Perry, Carrie Fisher, and Robin Williams did. The insecurities, weight of expectations, loneliness, mental illness, are all equal opportunity oppressors which don’t limit themselves to the rich and famous. Humor is a very common coping mechanism, and making people laugh is a way to try and cover up deep sadness, trauma, and feelings of inadequacy. So if you know someone who is funny and beautiful, who makes your world better, there is a chance that they also feel the darkness that these celebrities felt right up to the end.
Do you wish someone had reached out to Chandler before he got in the hottub? Do you want to yell at General Leia’s loved ones to check on her, and make sure she is ok? Would you give anything for a chance to tell professor John Keating how much he meant to you before you heard that he was gone?
Think of someone you know like these celebrities, and reach out to this person the way you wish someone had reached out to those celebrities.
Tell them you love them and tell them why.
Tell them about a memory you have together that always makes you smile.
Tell them something you admire about them.
Even if (you think) you can’t do anything for someone else, even if you don’t know what to say, don’t underestimate the power of hearing, „hey, I was thinking of you today. I hope you’re well.“
Each of us occupies one little bubble in this universe. None of us can change much within that little bubble, much less the whole world. But you never know how much you take up of someone else’s little bubble, and you could be the one that makes the difference. Your effort to share a kind word may do nothing, this is true. Or it may mean everything to someone else and make the whole difference in their life. So what have you got to lose?
P.S. Depression is a deadly, chronic disease. Not a weakness. Not a feeling. A disease that kills people. Don’t underestimate it.
Having been a lifetime member of team “Adopt Don’t Shop,” this year I took on my biggest challenge yet – fostering a dog with lupus, severe food intolerances, and a history of aggression and reactivity. I had to ask for more help and research more than I ever have for any behavior or training problem in my life.
In talking to others with rescued dogs who have behavior problems, I found that a lot of us had similar thoughts, but we hesitate to show anything other than point A (very sad and pathetic animal in shelter) and point Z (MIRACLE, it is a perfect and completely different animal!). So I thought, in the name of transparency, I would share some of the thoughts that I have had in the last 5 months of fostering Padfoot (my name for him, after Sirius Black’s animagus). Warning: not all of it is strictly family-friendly language.
Oh it’s ok that they say he is a bit crazy. People say that about me too!
Ah. That’s what they meant by crazy.
Is he ok? Is he sad and stressed in the kennel? I wonder what he would think of a romp in that field by our house? Maybe that therapy or these activities would help him deal better with shelter life…
Why can’t I stop thinking about him?
I mean, the nice dogs should go to people who don’t know how to manage the complicated dogs. I know how to manage complicated dogs, so it makes sense that I should take him. I can handle it.
Oh my gosh… I know, sweetheart, I know you didn’t mean it.
I want to make everyone who lets their dogs reproduce unchecked meet you. See how you suffer because of genetic problems, and irresponsible owners who don’t want to make the effort to train or socialize their animals. They’ll see.
Man, this is gonna be an adventure.
How could anyone adopt a dog then return them to the shelter?
How could anyone abandon you at the vet to be put to sleep? I have words to say to your former owners.
You know, I think I get why your owners abandoned you at the vet.
This is probably why people return dogs to the shelter.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
What if it stays like this forever?
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
What if this is the best it gets, and it never gets any better?
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
Look at that smile! I thought you might like a sniff-ari here.
Yeah, mice live in fields, and if you feel you can address the mice problem, have at it.
Is that… wait… OH MY GOSH WE HAVE A WAGGY TAIL!
That’s such a good boy, this obedience training stuff is pretty fun, huh?
DON’T EAT THAT!
THAT IS NOT FOOD!
YAY you looked at me for a split second! What a good boy!
Making a big deal of praising every little inch of progress in the right direction is going to send me to the funny farm.
Hello, waiting room full of people with quiet animals who just heard the Cujo soundmix from the exam room. I see your raised eyebrows and pursed lips, and I hear you také collective breaths as you pull your animals closer. I don’t blame you a bit… but hey, at least you weren’t the ones who had to put Cujo in a chokehold. And you don’t have to také Cujo back here again tomorrow. Count your blessings.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
Man… you poor thing. I see that you feel awful, and I see that you’re terrified. I wish I could také those feelings away from you.
I’ll just sit with you while you’ve got your IV running. I’ve got books to read and nowhere to be. This is Metallica, good for pretty much any mood. Just listen to them, they’ll make you feel better.
And I would do anything for love, I’d run right into hell and back…
Lady, I’d like to see you do better if you had nearly gotten your hand bitten off two weeks ago by this dog, who is now in pain and facing his worst aggression trigger. By all means, you force him out of the car, especially since he apparently now knows how to také off his own muzzle and chewed through his leash on the drive here.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
Funny, everyone who said “oh poor guy, you’re doing a really great thing, let us know if we can do anything to help,” is quite silent and distant now…
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
Financial support is great… but what I could really use is someone to give him his pills, and bathe him, and také him for the walks he needs, and put topical medicine on his lesions, and stay with him so I can go to work to support my family.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
If you’re just going to ask me to let you know if you can help (which is, by the way, putting the responsibility for getting your help on me, and do I look like I need more responsibility? How is that helpful?), only to say you can’t help or have something going on when I ask for help, rather don’t offer in the first place. You can send good vibes. Or pray, if that’s your thing. Or throw some money at an animal shelter. Any of those would be better for all of us.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
My god I have had this dog in my care for three weeks. How can I be asked to decide if we should continue with surgery or let him go?
Dear Ani, don’t worry about the people all around you who see the tears running down your face in the waiting room. Don’t measure how much longer the surgery is taking than it should. Just focus on your lungs, your ribs, and your diaphragm.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
Don’t worry, buddy, we will get you out of here.
I’m glad you’re home too.
Oh fucking A. HOW IS THIS STILL A PROBLEM.
Well. There went a month of progress and hard work down the tubes. Cool.
Trust the process. It’s not the destination, it’s the journey, and all that shit.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
Is this ever going to get any better?
Yeah, thank you, redneck stranger who is trying to criticize how I treat this dog. Let’s compare how much professional counsel I have sought out, how many pages of expert information on training, care, and management of these kinds of cases, and also, HOW MANY HOURS AND HOW MUCH ENERGY OF MINE have been put into caring for and training this dog in particular, and we will see who is more qualified to have a say in how I deal with him.
Amazing… Facebook and biased blogs have made your sheltered self an expert in veterinary nutrition, canine behavior, AND veterinary pharmacology. What a resource you are.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
Every night you cry yourself to sleep, thinking why does this happen to me, why does every moment have to be so hard?
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
YOU CAME WHEN I CALLED YOU AWAY FROM A DEAD THING IN THE WOODS?!?! WHAT a GOOD BOY. Yeah, you SHOULD be proud of yourself! I know I’m proud of you!
Aha, you have figured out the magic of belly pets.
See, this is all we wanted to do – put some medicine on your skin to stop the itching. You figured it out! Took you long enough, you silly thing.
What high order warlock did I piss off in which lifetime to get this hot mess dumped into my lap?
Well. The skin is only slightly broken. And not even the dermis is that damaged, so it’s just a scratch really. I’m not bleeding, there is just blood showing, and he didn’t puncture any tissue.
On the bright side, he didn’t bite the cat.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
Other people can just waltz into the shelter and come home with a nice dog. Good for them. I wouldn’t know the feeling.
I miss Bear.
Is it so much to ask of the universe that I want to hike, and do canicross and obedience and agility with my dog?
I swear, every time I think “hooray, he is healthy! We can go for a longer hike and start a running program, maybe sign up for some agility lessons!” the next day he is hobbling on three legs.
These health problems… it’s like a constant game of whack-a-mole from veterinary hell.
Oh buddy, thank you. Yes, this is why people get dogs, because nothing catches tears better than horse manes, and neck fur on loving floofs.
How could anyone look at that sweet face of yours and be in a bad mood?
Man… look how happy he is, just walking along and sniffing the leaves. I wonder if he ever went for long hikes in the woods before.
This is living, man. A mountaintop in autumn with my dog, and we have it all to ourselves.
Yeah buddy! You conquered a full mountain! The view from up here is pretty great, huh?
It’s a good question. How am I supposed to answer that? Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred… interactions? Pages read? Accomplishments in my new country? I don’t know and to be honest I haven’t kept track.
How do you measure linguistic knowledge?
Is linguistic knowledge the same as fluency? Is total understanding necessary for fluency? Is flawless grammar and a wide range of vocabulary the basis for fluency?
I mean…
I’ve gotten my property stolen and given police reports.
I’ve been lost in the woods and gotten home, relying only on a local with a speech impediment.
I’ve started a business.
I’ve made friends to cry with, laugh at nothing with, get drunk with, and who will let me sleep on their couches when I can’t make it home (where is home, anyway? Whoops, let’s not pull at that string…)
I’ve testified in court.
I’ve been on national live TV.
I’ve held jobs in multiple sectors and taught multiple age groups in multiple subjects.
I’ve performed simultaneous interpreting at international conferences.
I got my drivers’ license, paid parking tickets, and have dealt with immigration and social services in small towns, big towns, and the capital city.
I’ve gotten myself to the ER, physical therapy, and specialist doctor visits, and as a lay-interpreter, accompanied other foreigners to the same.
I have read a couple of books in Czech, watched several films in Czech, regularly read articles in Czech on a variety of topics.
But when someone says, “it’s good” in response to my apology, I don’t know if they forgive me.
If someone complains nonstop about their atrocious working conditions, I don’t know why they won’t complain to the boss, or change jobs, or why they patronizingly tell me “oh, that’s not how things work here.”
When people are making long lines outside the bank to pick up commemorative banknotes, I don’t know why they say they are waiting for bananas.
When someone says, “we can talk it out,” I don’t know if they mean we will compromise, or if they will do what they want and make my life miserable unless I do too.
When I offer a guest something at my house and they say no, I don’t know if they really mean no or if I need to ask again and then prepare something anyway, or else I will seem stupid and rude.
When someone says they need to discuss something with me, I don’t know if they mean “we are all mad at you and you’re going to regret bringing this up,” or “let’s exchange some ideas about a topic that concerns both of us,” or “we are going to argue about something and it’s gonna be a fight.”
When I say “I mean it well” and they respond with “I don’t take it badly,” if I am supposed to feel badly for saying it as I did, or deal with it further, or let it go, or, or, or…
When they say, “we Czechs are direct, we will tell it like it is,” it doesn’t take you long to see that they use that as an excuse to be belittling, condescending, rude, or cruel.
I can talk clinically about the mechanics of artificial insemination in domestic animals and discuss radiographs and blood test results in humans and animals, but I don’t feel comfortable talking about my work/life balance with my mother-in-law.
I can give detailed descriptions of perpetrators and play-by-play relayals of events, but I can’t explain why I once misunderstood the words záda (back) and zadek (butt).
I can tell amazing jokes and make people laugh, but I am never totally sure if they are laughing with me or at me.
At conferences, if I have been listening to expert presentations all day, I couldn’t form the sentence “vidím Spota, jak běhá” (I see Spot run) to save my life.
In most every conflict, I try to be humble and take responsibility, and the other person either dismisses the problem or heaps more shaming and more responsibility for the conflict onto me, without accepting any responsibility.
When someone asks me why I am angry, all I can do is splutter. Even if I speak slowly and quietly and stick to the facts, I still get the same treatment as someone who is emotional, unpredictable and crazy.
Language is about more than words and grammar and syntax. Language is expression, and understanding. Language is connecting meaning to our experiences. Language is a way to connect as is necessary and distance as is beneficial.
By that definition, I don’t even know if I am fluent in English.
My other languages expand my mind and my understanding, and they give me countless beautiful opportunities I would not have had otherwise. I know if I stayed home and never experienced another culture, I would experience the same human angst as I do when I get strung up on the language barrier. But would it be such a lonely angst? I will never know.
So the answer is no, I guess I’m not fluent. But maybe I am as fluent as any of us will ever be.
Do you ever hear words coming out of your mouth, and think to yourself “Damn…. How batshit crazy am I??”
The last time this happened to me was in my meeting with the PR department. We were meeting to discuss the programming for the autumn and I said, “what if I did two lectures, one on the Black Lives Matter movement and one on the Me Too movement?”
The thought process was solid. I have personal, professional, and academic experience with both. I can talk about them both. They are related. What could go wrong…
… with discussing two of the most controversial and explosive topics in modern society, outside their original cultural context, in my third language?
I clearly wasn’t firing on all cylinders in that meeting. But because I am charming with my wit and sense of humor (the big American smile doesn’t hurt either), my programs were approved.
My personal reaction:
I dove into researching, and dusted off the cobwebs from my memories:
Sitting at my computer, reading that Trayvon Martin’s murderer was acquitted when all the boy had done was walk down the street wearing a hoodie and carrying a bag of Skittles.
The stranger who grabbed my crotch when we passed each other on a sidewalk.
Having my entire university campus shocked when a young woman was gang-raped by a group of basketball players (who lived in the same university housing building as I did) and the players were allowed to finish the semester and play in the following season, while keeping their athletic scholarships. She had to drop out of school because of the trauma.
Seeing the SWAT team coming down from Ferguson Missouri to downtown St. Louis as the early Black Lives Matter protests escalated. Hearing the sound of breaking windows rising on the night air with plumes of smoke from flash bombs and screams of fear and anger, sirens and police lights zipping back and forth on my street.
Reading the news reports about the young, unarmed black man who was murdered by police four blocks from my apartment a mere 30 minutes after I had run past that very alley.
After getting hit in the legs with a willow switch by my male boss, my screamed “NO!” ignored, my husband demanded that my boss apologize to me. What my boss said was “I’m sorry you reacted how you did, but these are just our traditions, and if you don’t like it and can’t accept it, you should go back to where you came from.”
Brain physiology is something that has helped me immensely in processing the headshaking “is this really happening right now?” moments in my life. The three main parts involved in processing events are the amygdala (controls the freeze, fight or flight response), the hippocampus (processes and stores memories), and the frontal lobe (controls emotions, reason, abstract thinking, etc.). So after reviewing my memories, the amygdala and the hippocampus having a great catchup time, I dove into research to give power back to the frontal lobe.
Rational discussion:
When discussing the Me Too and Black Lives Matter movements, I think a lot of the conflict stems from a disagreement in terms (lifehack: this is the case for most disagreements and misunderstandings). Even as we try to participate in conversations, people tend to equivocate some very loaded terms. I have included a couple of them here with some general definitions.
Fault: an action that someone carries out, or directly causes to be carried out (I didn’t step on the brake, therefore the car accident is my fault).
Responsibility: someone caused something else to happen, be that an action or circumstances (I didn’t screw the lid onto the milk tightly enough, so the spilled milk is my responsibility).
Vice: an intentional action or activity that causes harm to the main participant and/or a third party (overuse of alcohol is a vice).
Foolishness: an action, activity, or belief that goes against logic and leads to undesirable outcomes (pulling the tail of an aggressive dog is an example of foolishness).
These terms overlap somewhat, and it can be difficult to determine where to place blame.
Let’s take a neutral example to begin. Cookies are sitting on the table and a child takes some when his mother, who has put them on the table, is not looking. We may say that the vice is stealing the cookie when the household rules state otherwise (notable: in order for the rules to be just, this counts as a vice only if the rules against taking cookies are clear to the child).
Given that the child did the stealing, it is the child’s fault.
In stealing the cookie, the child and the mother both have responsibility: the mother for putting the cookies in a place where they could be stolen, the child for taking the cookies.
The child has both responsibility and fault. Given that he did, in fact, steal the cookies, he may very well have stolen the cookies even if the mother hid them. Depending on how well the mother knows her child, it may have been foolishness on her part to put them in easy reach. But no matter where she put the cookies, it is wrong to steal cookies. No matter how natural it is to steal the cookies, given how delicious they are and how much the child loves them and wants them, it is wrong to steal cookies.
The child, as the primary actor in the stealing, has the fault.
It is not the mother’s fault.
The fine line between responsibility and fault comes into play especially in cases of alleged harassment, assault, or misconduct. Especially when all those words like vice, sin, responsibility are so loaded with personal and societal connotations. Especially when there are multiple active participants and multiple vices and multiple levels of responsibility. When discussing movements like Me Too or Black Lives Matter, it is even more intimidating. But I am going to give it a try in our two upcoming events this fall at the library.
Things to remember:
Human beings are not good at empathizing. We are good at sizing up a situation from afar and evaluating it quickly, usually on the basis of how much we can relate to it – would I do it that way? How might I do it differently? This is natural, we are pack animals with a few natural predators (though nothing poses a greater risk to us than our own stupidity). Our ancestors needed to be able to react immediately and evaluate risk quickly.
But that was centuries ago. The amygdala and hippocampus got much more of a workout back then. In the 21st century, evaluating the actions of others, we must remember that we are not in that situation we are observing, and we do not have the lived experience of the other person in that situation. Of course we would not react like they do. But we cannot say for certain that we would not react the same were we in their shoes.
Resist fearing the threat of the unfamiliar. Approach that which is different with curiosity and a willingness to listen. Be kind to others, and to yourself. You are at once perfectly unique and perfectly the same as everyone else. Look at those around you with this lens, and treat them with this same respect.
All day, every day, waves of pain that blurred my vision and slapped me upside and backside the head.
The doctor told me, after an MRI showed that there were no clots or tumors or other things my overactive brain cooked up, to try an SSRI.
An antidepressant.
But those make you addicted, and have side effects, and they are for other people but you need to rely on yourself and your God and strength from within and above, not from without.
But God my aching head….
Two weeks into the treatment, my head still hurt from migraines… but I had never felt this way before.
Like walking from a dark and smoky room into January sunshine.
Like every inconvenience didn’t have to send me into a tailspin.
Happiness that wasn’t euphoria, just… a state of being, like being awake.
Like I wouldn’t have to wait weeks until something made me so incredibly happy that it would finally lift me up and forward for a bit, until I slowly slipped under again.
And as my body adjusted to the medicine, the migraines came further and further apart. I was glad for a break in the physical pains. As far as the emotional health, I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Then I moved across the world, and held my breath that the stress wouldn’t make the migraines worse, and that I could get the same medicine in the new place I lived.
I got called an addict.
I got called crazy.
I got called weak, imbalanced, out of the ordinary.
The owner of the house where I lived found my medicine, and said they didn’t want a crazy person living under their roof.
I was told people were scared of me.
I was told I was just sad, just missing my family, just an overly emotional American.
The headaches started to come back.
I don’t fear. Fear is a four-letter word. So is quit.
But I’m all alone here, see? I was right… all I can rely on, all I can trust, is myself. I can’t even rely on help from above, after all, from where is all this pressure and stress coming?
Can’t show emotions. Can’t show weakness. Can’t rely on others.
They tell their own toddlers, “stop crying or I’ll give you a reason to cry.” What would they say to an adult who also speaks improperly and with an accent?
They tell me if I don’t like the culture here, I can go back where I came from.
I learn that my emotions can make me demonstrative, and that makes people laugh. If I can make people laugh, at least I’m good for something. I can put something good out into the world, even if I don’t have anything good to offer. Creating something out of nothing. They won’t ask about me, and how I’m feeling, and I won’t have to be honest.
I can be kind, respond with smiling, or sassiness, and if I’m lucky they will laugh and not see me crumble.
The little me inside my head trying to run the switchboard, jumping from language track to language track, scrambling to thicken the castle walls around my heart. She will be fine, she’s done this before, she’s been doing this all my life.
Trying to be rational, put straitjackets on the scrambling emotions that press on my frontal lobe, flash floods of fight or flight responses, unreliable stimuli coming from all around me.
So tired. All the time.
The migraines are getting worse.
Little me jumping from language track to language track to build up the castle walls misses the landing more often than not.
Struggles more and more to climb back up and keep working.
Finally one night I am standing in the dark, the moon shining onto the bathroom sink. The light reflects a chalky white in polka dots in my hand, the aspirin tablets tumbling over each other in the clear plastic bottle. I guess there must be about 218 tablets therein.
Maybe this time it would finally work. The little me in my head would lie down on the tracks and I would lie down on the bathroom floor, and soon enough we wouldn’t fuck up anymore.
Somehow the bottle ended back up on the shelf, with all 218 pills still beneath the childproof lid.
The next day I called a psychiatrist my insurance would cover. I confided that I get migraines, take this medication for them, that I recently tried to “harm myself.”
“Ok, we have an opening in three months, shall I pencil you in?”
Um… Yeah, hopefully I make it another 3 months. So do write it in pencil.
“In the meantime, you need a recommendation from your primary care physician. Bring it to the appointment with you.”
I called my primary care physician the same week. “You’re the American, right? You want to talk to a psychiatrist about depression? Are you sure you aren’t just missing home?”
Even if I am just missing home, if I am missing home enough to want to stop missing anything ever again, isn’t that even more reason to get my head checked? But at least the doctor signed the paper.
When I finally got to the psychiatrist, she asked for my symptoms, life circumstances, family history. Finally, I could be honest. Not try and make someone laugh. Not try to make excuses for how I was feeling.
“You did the right thing, coming to see me. Depression is a deadly disease. People die from it. You are describing a depression/anxiety disorder with probable genetic precedence. Your brain cannot regulate its flight or fight response, or other chemicals that monitor how to react to stimuli. You have a lot of life circumstances that would make it hard for anyone to cope, even if they didn’t have their brain’s physiology working against them. Let’s try some medicine to see if we can help your brain manage your life.”
The blue paintings on the yellow walls suddenly began to swim, and the doctor’s face blurred as though a wave rushed over the camera lens. Someone saw me, and heard me, and didn’t think I was crazy or weak. She told me I had a chronic disease, a disease that can be managed, and lived with.
Lived with.
Four years later, I get flare-ups with my mental illness. I have to manage it with medicine every day, as well as other coping mechanisms – exercise, lifestyle choices, social and emotional support. Some days one coping mechanism works. Some days another one. Sometimes I run through my whole toolbox, and nothing works, I just have to go to bed and hope tomorrow goes better.
I have to continue in self-reflection, and I am finding new layers of toxic tendencies in myself to unlearn all the time. I am a hot mess, and make many, many mistakes.
I have been through some SHIT at the hands of other people. But hurting people hurt people, and I doubt all the people who screwed me up meant to do it. Very little of that is about me anyway.
Funnily enough, since I asked for help and began treating my symptoms as an illness and not a character flaw, I am stronger than ever. I even have managed to face my greatest earthly fears, and I have not died in the process.
Most importantly, I have had four more years of breath in my lungs, four more years of “wow” moments when I hike to the top of a hill and look at a panorama with the wind in my hair. Four more years of laughing with great people. Four more years of drinking coffee like it’s my job, coffee that’s like my soul – black and strong. Four more years of crying, even in front of others, and not losing any friends because of it. Four years of smiling at triumphant entries of spring, four years of playing in the snow, four years of watching the rhythms of seasons and seeing that nature never rushes or stresses, but always gets everything done.
Four years of hope. Not hope in a better future, hope in the mere fact that I am alive in the present.
„Jo, ahAAAAA… tak SLEČno, kdy-bych VĚDĚL, že jste Ameri-ČAN-KA, tak bych to PO-CHOPIL. (Ohhh… well miss, if I had known you were American, I would have understood)
Maybe this self-important jackass thought he was being cultured and polite by recognizing my country of origin (the manager informed him of my heritage when she was talking him down from a blowup). But after he tore me a new one because I put a few more mililiters of hot water in his lungo than he would have liked, releasing five minutes of diatribe in front of a full lobby and cafe where I worked as a waitress, he may as well have thrown the coffee in my face.
I wanted to ask him to check the water’s temperature. With his scalp.
You may think of an immigrant as someone who comes from a radically different culture, has darker skin than you do, maybe has a different religion. But technically and culturally, I am an immigrant. I left my country of origin, and attempted to establish a new life in a new country. That is the official definition of an immigrant. Even if you don’t see me as an immigrant, we can certainly agree that I am a foreigner, and most places I go, I am the only foreigner in the room.
If you care about building good relationships with foreigners, or really with anyone new that you meet, it is important to know how you come across in conversation. Allow me to share with you some things I have heard over the past six years, and what I wish the person asking the questions had known.
(And yes, I have heard all of these things at least once from a Czech person.)
“Where are you from?“
This question is innocent, but we do get asked it the most. It can and often does get tiresome, especially if we were going about our lives or talking about something interesting, and then we have to answer the same question again. If possible, get to know us a bit better, and we may even tell you without you having to ask.
“Your accent is different-interesting-exotic-weird-shocking-unexpected-drivingmecrazybecauseIcan’tplaceit.“
REALLY?! I had NO IDEA I had an accent when I speak my third language, THANK YOU for pointing that out to me.
Believe me, in our conversation, no one knows I am a foreigner better than I do. Depending on what my language capabilities are, I may be extremely self-conscious about my accent. I may have even been harassed, mistreated, or mocked because of it (in my case, I definitely have). Regardless, you don‘t need to draw my attention to it, especially if you feel compelled to tell me it is weird or shocking.
„This new language is hard, isn’t it? (insert any details about the given language). How long have you been studying it?“
There is nothing wrong with these questions, but we also get asked them a lot. And do you talk about these things (the nuances of your language’s grammar) with your friends and family over coffee? Not likely, because there are so many other interesting things to talk about in the world! You can politely say you admire our language skills, but a greater compliment is if you just talk with us about anything, like you would with anyone else. It is one of the greatest feelings in the world, when you are fighting to make your place in your new home, and those around you treat you like you belong.
“Why here?“
Again, not a bad question, but we get it a LOT. You can try asking more open ended questions: “what sort of foods do you like from here?” “Have you found anything here you like to do in your spare time? What is your favorite thing about living here?”
“Is it better here than in your home country?“
There is no good way to answer this question. If I say no, I may offend you and get homesick for my country – no one wins. If I say yes, there is probably something really terrible about my home country or life there, and I don’t want to be reminded about it– I lose. You can try asking an open-ended question, such as “what are things that stand out to you about life here?“ “What are some things you love about your home country?“
“Do you miss your family?“
…. No, they are all serial killers and I fled my country under threat of death (JOKE in my case. My family is wonderful!). You are most likely just trying to be thoughtful and sympathetic, and that is very kind of you, but the way it is worded is kind of awkward. If I don’t miss my family, the reasons are probably at least uncomfortable, if not painful, to talk about. If I do miss my family, it may make me sad to talk about missing them, especially if you and I have just met. Try asking me open-ended questions about my family – how many siblings I have, what we like to do together, if we have gone on any trips together… really anything you would ask your local friends about their family.
“Oh you’re American? You must love volleyball/burgers/fillinwhateverthingyouthinkistypicallyamerican.“
Yes, and all dogs love to herd sheep, too.
People are different. I am not all Americans. I have my own preferences just like every other human all over the world. Don’t jump to conclusions about me. You can ask all of these as open-ended questions and I will be happy to give my opinion.
“Don’t all Americans feel this way about race/abortion/puppies/riding a bike?“
Nope. They don’t. No two people feel the same way about anything, anywhere in the world. If you want to know what I think about, ask me politely if I don’t mind sharing. Then respect my answer whether I share my insight or say I don’t feel comfortable talking about it.
„What do Americans think about _________?“
I don’t know, I can tell you what this American thinks about that, or maybe what some Americans think about that, but I definitely can’t tell you what all Americans think about that.
“So how about all those immigrants coming and taking our jobs? There are going to be waves and waves of them, soon we will be a minority.“
How about that native population in our shared current country? They can really ask some rude, biased, and uninformed questions, don’t you think?
“You’re no different than the other Mongoloids who come here and get married looking for a visa.“
Well, I hope your next sexual partner wears a condom soaked in sriracha. Trust me, your closed and sheltered brain can’t fathom the myriad of reasons why someone would come to another country at all, much less my own experiences that have led me here. So go take a long walk off a short pier. By the way, I doubt someone who is truly a Mongoloid could write an informative email to your boss about what a shitty human being you are… But I know I can!
“You’re not in your home country. If you don’t like it, you can go back where you came from.“
Normally I’d make a comment here about how you must have learned to talk shit from your mother, but that’s beneath me. Oh hey, and speaking of things that are beneath me, how is your mother these days?
Otherwise, here is a list of things you probably do without even realizing it:
Talking unclearly with lots of slang and filler words.
If youre having a conversation with me and I say “what?” that probably doesn’t mean that I don’t understand your words in and of themselves, rather that you didn’t speak clearly. Or that you used so many filler words that I got lost. Instead of switching to my language or talking to me like I am a child, try just repeating what you said again more clearly. Then I have the chance to either reinforce my learning, ask you to clarify your point, or point out a specific word that I didn’t understand. This way you also treat me more like an equal, and trust me, that is an amazing feeling.
Staring at foreigners when we are speaking our language.
We speak multiple languages. It doesn’t mean we are blind. Staring is generally considered rude by the time you enter preschool, no matter what language the person you are staring at is speaking.
Asking any question as a thin disguise to share your own opinion on the subject.
No doubt you have opinions on something. So do we. But we can tell when you ask us something just so you can say your opinions. It sounds like dont really care how things actually are. Or what we think about it. To combat this, you can say „it seems to me like ……. Is that accurate?“ „Can I share what I think about ……..?“ „I heard-read-learned that something in America is this way. Is that true?“
*** Hammering home your own point about your opinion or perspective on our country when we have already told you it is not the case.
Best case scenario, you look stupid. Worst case scenario, you look stupid while confirming that you are an asshole.
General guidelines for building relationships with foreigners:
Ask open-ended questions: How do you like it here? What do you think about _____? Tell me about ___________?
Ask deeper questions, once you get to know us: Was there something that surprised you about life here? Do you have any funny stories? Was there anything someone did that was distinctive or made an impact on you? (Do bear in mind you may be asking about personal feelings and sensitive experiences in a country. Some of us have been harassed, mocked, or been in uncomfortable situations that have led us to form these opinions)
Ask regular questions that you would ask of anyone: Where do you work? How long did you go to school for? What is your family like? What do you like to do in your spare time? Which is better, the Beatles or Queen? No, you are absolutely right, pineapple does not belong on pizza.
Treat us like people, just like you would want to be treated. That’s all we are at the end of the day.
Seek to learn from us, and think about how we can all teach things to each other. That is why we are all put together in this crazy, beautiful mess of a world.
Thank you schön za to že viniste a mi TedTalk, mon amiguinho piú caro 🙂
Reading books is the best thing that people can love, I think. Reading books is a use for paper that didn’t occur to me, since paper in books is hard to crumple into a ball, or tie to a string like a feather.
I will be honest, usually the most fun I can have with books is helping Mommy turn the page (she always gets cross and says I am destroying her book), sitting on them while she is reading (she gets cross at this too, but I am just using my butt to mark her place), or knocking them off the nightstand when the food dish isn’t full.
It is true though, when Mommy reads a book, she is still, and thus a great snuggle buddy. Since she read over a hundred books with me last year, I put together a list of ways that you can pick a good book:
Books with lots of pictures are great, because the pages are nice and shiny, and they glide under the paws as you turn the pages. Be warned though, you as a human will get really tired of the kitty trying to help turn pages, and the reading snuggle session will end pretty quickly. Try a thicker, longer book. And remember, when you finish a page, it is a great chance to pet a kitty face.
2. Don’t just pick a book based on its cover. The cover of a book can be deceiving. For instance, the book „Field Guide to Czech Songbirds“ with a lovely sparrow on the front contained no actual songbirds. Very disappointing.
3. Mommy says the best books are those which make you experience all the emotions while learning things about yourself and the world. But when you are reading an excellent book like this, be aware – it may make you cry, laugh, scream, or throw the book across the room. All activities which disturb a kitty reading companion. Very rude.
4. Books about cats are great, always. The market has a multitude of books about cats, fiction and nonfiction alike, that you will enjoy. My personal favorite is „The Lion in the Living Room,“ which tells the story of how cats and humans came to live together. It is fascinating, funny, and interesting – just like me!
5. If you have a choice to get a book with a ribbon bookmark, pick that one. Doesn’t matter which genre. Your kitty will thank you.
And there you have it – five tips for picking your next book, from the one and only Kitty Librarian in the Czech Republic. Remember humans, think of your kitty friends when you are picking out a book to read. Once you are a perfect 36.5 degree heated blanket, we will gladly enhance your reading experience with happy purring.
Kryptonite is the head animal librarian at the North Bohemia Research Library in Ústí nad Labem. Once per week he comes to supervise the work of library employees, do quality control checks on staff and patrons‘ petting skills, and make sure that all the most comfortable chairs are easily accessed. He cannot imagine a world where someone doesn’t think he is wonderful. When he is not working at the library, he enjoys playing with bits of paper, doing tricks, and having people tell him how perfect he is.
You can follow his literary adventures on Instagram at @alul.american.knihovna or @petrakpettingzoo
As a thirty-year-old woman who does not have her own biological children, I get asked this a lot. I have become famous for my unorthodox responses to this question, which I (and most women my age) see as impolite and intrusive:
„Are you really asking me about my sex life?“
„I’m the one who has to carry and raise the kids, I don’t see how that should impact or interest you.“
„Well, after the egg is fertilized by the sperm, more or less 40 weeks of gestation go by, and then a baby is born, so I guess give or take 40 weeks from when a sperm fertilizes one of my eggs.“
„You know, I ask myself the same question. My husband and I have so much sex, it seems like a baby would have happened a long time ago.“
Yes. I really have answered that question in each of these ways. To quote a dear friend of mine, also a foreigner: „if it’s awkward for me, I’m going to make it awkward for you.“
I don’t think people really understand how intrusive and personal this question is. When you say „so when are you having kids?“ or my very favorite, „so are you trying to have kids?“ do you realize the answer may be one or more of the following:
„I am pregnant now, but don’t want to share the news yet.“
„My partner and I don’t agree on this issue and we don’t know how to resolve it.“
„I am pregnant now, but there is something wrong. I am going to lose the pregnancy and I have a lot of complicated emotions.“
„Five people have already asked me that question this week, and I am tired of answering it.“
„I don’t know if my partner and I are ready to be parents.“
„I have a lot of debt and property issues that are causing me enough stress, I don’t need a child to add to that.“
“We have been trying for a long time to have kids with no success, and that is such a hard and expensive process, it is discouraging to think about it, much less be forced to talk about it.”
„I had a horrible experience in my home and family as a child. I don’t want to make the same mistakes as my parents.“
„I have personal and professional goals I want to reach first.“
„We have a plan, but we don’t want to share it.“
„I have trauma from past relationships, and the thought of having a child is unfathomable to me.“
„My partner and I are having serious problems in our relationship, and I don’t want to have a child in the middle of that.“
„I have a genetic defect that I don’t want to pass on to another generation.“
„I physically cannot have children.“
„My job is awful and I don’t make enough money to support a family.“
„I don’t want to trap my partner with parenthood.“
„I have serious health problems that keep me from having children, and I don’t want to talk about them.“
„I am worried I won’t be a good mother.“
„I am worried my partner won’t be a good parent, or partner, once the baby is born.“
„The world is already full of abused and unloved children, I don’t need to contribute to society’s burden by bringing more children into the world.“
„The planet is already overloaded with people.“
„I am fulfilled and happy in my current state and I don’t want to threaten that.“
„The world is full of evil and destruction, who would want to bring a kid into that?“
„I have already lost a pregnancy, and I am still grieving. The thought of having another baby is just too much.“
„Why does no one ask men when they are having kids? Or guilt them, or try to convince them otherwise, when they say they don’t want kids?“
„I have so much else I could talk about, why do you want to discuss my reproductive life?“
I won’t tell you which of these reasons are, or have been, the case for me. Because I don’t have to. It is my business. If I trust you and we have a good relationship, I may open up to you and tell you more about myself at some point. But there are so many amazing things to talk about in our big, crazy, fascinating world, let’s just talk about those instead.
In closing: ask about something other than a woman’s reproductive life if you are genuinely interested in talking with her. And should you ask me about my domestic plans be prepared to hear a LOT about my private life.
But mostly, I have lots of feelings. How do you describe these feelings?
When a horse you have raised and trained yourself goes to his first horse show and places 5th in his first class and 1st in his second class, to applause from all the spectators.
When the In-Hand Trail class shows that you have improved in every area of your training, and your Freestyle performance to No Tengo Dinero makes the audience laugh when they hear the song’s title translated.
When you hug your horse in the middle of an arena that was all yours, and you truly forget all the tears, all the frustration and anger, all the stress, because you did something with your horse and he did so much better than you could have expected.
When you go camp at the showgrounds, and see the stains from the last time you used the tent – which was two years earlier when your horse was an infant and needed to eat every four hours.
When you are going through the familiar exhilarating phases of a horse show that you have missed so much – from braiding his mane to picking up your number to cleaning a stall to memorizing the course – only now you are doing it with your own horse.
When you hear your horse’s name and number called over the loudspeaker, and you have to shake your head to see if you are dreaming.
When your horse does everything you ask of him, every in-hand trail maneuver, every command, on the first try and with a perfect attitude, such that no one would guess that he was a stallion.
When you had such extreme doubts about how he would do, you just had to run the mantras “participation is perfection” and “we are doing this for experience” through your head and resign yourself to surviving… and your horse blew even your expectations out of the water.
When you’re holding your trophy and ribbons in your hands, thinking that while you have asked and gotten advice from over 20 different trainers and breeders, you have done all the work with the same hands that hold those prizes.
When you are overwhelmed with texts and congratulations from your friends from around the world who have been telling you all weekend that they are cheering for you and believe in you, even when you didn’t believe in yourself.
When you are having a quiet moment with your horse on the grass as a reward, and you remember the comments that have stung the most over the last two years:
She must not really have financial problems, if she can afford a horse.
Oh… he’s cute. His legs are bad though.
That horse looks awful… before you think about showing you should learn how to feed a horse.
Oh my gosh, you need to get a vet out. my horse is your horse’s age and look how much bigger, healthier, and fatter he looks.
Have you ever dewormed him before? Do you know anything about taking care of a young horse?
Well, he will be a nice horse to take on walks in the woods.
He still has so many unknowns in his future, and I have no idea where he will end up. He may still “only” be a trail horse (by the way, I would trust “only a trail horse” more than I would trust a banker with my family fortune). But if that’s the case, he’ll go to the woods with a first place ribbon on his bridle and the most proud and loving human mom on his back.
The months of crippling migraines didn’t make me finally decide to slam on the brakes.
The two falls from horseback, one causing traumatic injury, did not cause me to stop my breakneck pace.
The times I tried to stop and think when was the last time I did something for fun with a friend? Do I have any friends? and then quickly changed my train of thought didn’t make me stop in my tracks and say “something’s gotta give.”
It was that simple statement from my husband, the man who knows and understands me better than anyone else on earth, and who normally enjoys laughing at human idiocy as much as I do, that caught my attention.
I had relayed something that a coworker had said that was facepalm-worthy, and then confided it to Jonas. When I relayed the joke that I had wanted to make in return, Jonas hadn’t laughed, but was surprised that I was so harsh and cutting in my response to this poor young fellow.
The rest of my conversations and interactions throughout the day ran through my head, and I realized most of them were on par with this comment. Some of them were even more… well, I would have said intelligent and witty, but now I was doubting my self-evaluation of my humor.
If my adoring husband was calling me mean, that meant that somewhere, a drastic change had been undergone.
At some point, my “someone at this place has to be cheerful and funny, it may as well be me!” approach had been replaced with “let’s at least laugh about something here,” and joy had been slowly suffocated along the way.
The time had come to really stop, and look at what I was carrying with me wherever I went. Why was I judging every living person through such harsh lenses? Why was every little inconvenience such a cause for a string of profanity? When did every living, breathing person become a smiling mask to hide a crook’s visage? What had put these lenses over my eyes to see the world this way?
I stopped on the deserted road that I had been running, or slogging down. Barren to the left, barren to the right. Bleak gray clouds overhead, straight and barren road leading to god-knows-where ahead. I remembered the road behind, ten years of university studies, and master’s programs, and moving across the world, and all sorts of jobs. All bleak and barren behind me. Nothing to show for all my churning and running. No one chasing me, no one yelling after me. There was only one thing it could be. No escaping now.
Time to stop and turn, to face the demons sitting on my back.
¿quévalemás? 