Necessary Discomfort

Lascivious. Vulgar. Admonish.

These are some of the words my Advanced Conversation students wanted help understanding yesterday. And they happen to be some of my favorite words.

They are favorites not because of their definitions, but because of the way they feel in my mouth when I say them, and because of the reactions they can elicit from listeners. Few people react mildly to hearing about lascivious speech or vulgar acts. And no one likes to be admonished. Besides, when I hear or read these words, I automatically picture Hieronymus Bosch's "Garden of Earthly Delights," with all its wanton nudity and twisted depictions of tortured sinners.

Unsurprisingly, the newspaper article my student gleaned these words from concerned a college football player who had behaved very poorly in public and whose punishment was being benched for several important games. (Benched was another word my students were unfamiliar with.)

Just before our class started, I was overwhelmed with frustration about dealing with Project Learn and the public library for a space in which to teach this class. Being a volunteer, I am not high on Project Learn's list of Important Items to Take Care Of or People with Whom Communication Is Important. And even though I took the last two Thursdays off from this class to spend time with my husband during his vacation, I had the distinct gut feeling that I didn't want to continue dealing with all that bureaucracy in the future.

And then Ying came in and said, "I love this class! I look forward to this class, and I always want to come here for it!"

She stated it so simply and honestly that all my resolve to discontinue melted away. I tend to not do things I really don't want to do. However, as I've gotten older, the clarity of distinction between things I want to do and those I don't want to do has become fuzzier. Often I find myself doing something I'm not particularly enthusiastic about merely because it will help someone else feel better or because it is simply the right thing to do.

For instance, before my father died, I never went to any calling hours for friends' or relatives' departed loved ones. And I rarely visited sick friends or relatives, either in a hospital or at their home. I justified this omission by the fact that these situations made me uncomfortable. I also said to myself that the ill or grieving had others to support them emotionally, so why would they feel my absence?

Then, in the midst of my overpowering grief and loss at my father's sudden death, I noticed something. Cards came in the mail from acquaintances I hadn't seen in years, filled with kind words of sympathy and encouragement. Casseroles and desserts appeared on our back stoop from friends who understood how taxing it was to spend the whole day at the hospital agonizing over whether to remove a ventilator tube. Generous, loving support and comfort came pouring forth from people I barely knew, as well as from family members who had formerly been estranged.

The funeral home was absolutely packed with people who had worked with my father decades earlier, who had seen him regularly in the grocery store, who had been touched in small ways by his humor and his humanity. Each unfamiliar person who told me details about my dad buoyed my spirit and moved me. I started to realize the importance of these small gestures. I started to realize that no one "likes" to visit sick or grieving people, no one "likes" to help a loved one through a devastating loss, no one "likes" to send a note or give a condolence card or let you cry on their shoulder.

But these things make a difference; they are necessary. The small, simple act of showing up makes so much difference.

I learned this morning that my sister-in-law's father passed away yesterday after a long, debilitating illness. He died doing what he loved, gambling at a casino. And even though his death was a long time coming, even though my sister-in-law had years to anticipate it and prepare for it, I know she will need as much support as possible to get through these next few difficult days. And the days after that. And all the days and years of having no father that are to come.

She was there for me and my family five years ago; I will be there for her now. It doesn't matter whether I want to or not. It is necessary.

At the end of our class yesterday, after we had discussed the definitions of "quarterback" and "discipline," after we had practiced using phrases like "to reflect well on oneself" and "coming soon to a mall near you," I was exhausted.

I was also energized. The feeling of frustration that had formed a pit in my belly before our class began had dissipated in the rush of sharing my passion for words. Each time I gushed that that's one of my favorite words! my students laughed. The whole dictionary is your favorite word, they said.

Well, yes, in a way.

But, really, the act of sharing knowledge is very powerful. Sharing knowledge, sharing enthusiasm, sharing laughter, sharing grief, sharing a smile or a hug or quiet moment. These are my favorite things, my fuel for getting through the daunting, frustrating, confusing struggle of life.

So, while lascivious, vulgar, and admonish are wonderful words that elicit strong responses and feel so delightful on the tongue, some of the other words we worked on are even more powerful: ambassador, liaison, discretion. These words might not get such visceral reactions, but they do a lot more of the heavy lifting in life.

I ended class by informing my students that we don't yet have a classroom for next week, but that I will find us one, no matter what it takes.