Human kind

Preparing the family home for sale was a mammoth task. And it really did take a village to get the job done. With assistance from generous neighbours and friends, there had been regular council clean-up piles on both sides of the street, countless trips to local op shops, and a couple of special drop offs to the Lifeline book fair and a local church flea market. Several neighbours came around to help dismantle the incredibly heavy, wall to wall entertainment unit from upstairs. And it was a group effort to manoeuvre the 1920's wardrobe from the front bedroom out onto the street. One of our grandfather’s former clock buddies offered to sell several clocks for us without charging a commission. My sister organised informal garage sales under the carport where neighbours popped in for a browse and a chat and left with their pockets full of Dad’s old scissors and pens, and car boots packed with tools and plants and pieces of furniture that the Salvos didn’t want. Some sent photos of a pot plant or garden statue or revamped desk in its new home. It felt fitting that the couple from across the road, who had been incredibly helpful, both with Dad and throughout the 'decluttering' process, happily walked away with my brother's handmade garden bench seat, giving it continued life.

The antiques dealer recommended by our real estate agent drove up from Eden to look at the piano, and ended up agreeing to take several pieces of furniture, some old doilies and dresses and a couple of pieces of our Great Uncle Ces’s artwork as well. Steve* was quite a character, pushing aside silvery dreadlocks and hoisting up his trousers as he inspected our wares and explained his unique approach to long distance driving. Steve took a long stroll in the garden with mum over a cup of tea and 'tut tutted' in a very supportive way when she complained about how the new paint job had stripped the house of its character. He then enlisted my siblings in a morning of heavy lifting in order to squeeze everything into his truck. When he finally left, more than a week after his first visit, he surprised mum with a goodbye kiss on the cheek. Overall there had been some lovely interactions with beautiful people throughout this very difficult process. 

Yet, at the 11th hour, only a couple of days before settlement, we received an intimidating letter of demand from the buyer’s solicitor, accusing us of chopping down a tree during the settlement period without their consent. This wasn’t the case at all. A large gum tree had fallen down in a storm about 6 months earlier, and mum had brought someone in to chop up the fallen tree into smaller pieces. The resulting logs were then carefully positioned alongside walking paths in mum's beloved rainforest at the back of the garden. Various stumps became seats, or little tables for potted plants. The larger trunk was still there, with its upended roots blending into 6 months of overgrowth. It had been visible exactly like that throughout the marketing campaign for the sale of the house and we had photos to prove it. Yet, the replies came back in legal jargon as determined as ever. We’d chopped down the gum tree without their consent and would have to remove the entire tree's remains within 24 hours or they’d withhold part of the final price. 

I was shocked and angry. ‘How could they be so cruel?’ I asked mum’s solicitor, who calmly guided the process with his signature pragmatism until the buyer's solicitor finally backed off, and the sale went through with a mere moment to spare. But the whole incident left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Mum's beloved garden

This wasn’t my first experience of people behaving badly. When others have behaved in ways that I experience as disingenuous, unreasonable, manipulative or lacking in empathy I feel incredibly angry. Whether it’s on the global political stage, in workplaces, or in community groups, I’ve seen how those with power can wield that power over others, how the truth can be twisted to serve a particular purpose, and how individual interests can override the greater good. 

When the property dispute happened, I admitted on social media that I felt ill-equipped to deal with human cruelty. As a Quaker, I was raised amongst hippies and activists, people who courageously spoke truth to power and worked tirelessly for social justice. I was also encouraged to "Walk cheerfully over the earth, answering that of God in everyone". When faced with blatant cruelty and injustice, I find it challenging to see the good in those who actively cause harm to others. I asked the hive mind how I can stay true to the peaceful values of my upbringing while still channelling my rage into a focused, productive fight for justice.

It turned out that people had lots to say on the subject. Some reflected that Quakers, because of our focus on seeing the good in others, can struggle with holding people accountable, setting boundaries and resolving conflict in a healthy way. Others found comfort in the laws and policies that govern human behaviour. Some felt compassion for tyrants and bullies. Others reflected that anger is a good thing if channelled towards positive social change. After all, it is what’s led to progress on women’s liberation, racial justice and other civil rights. And then a couple of friends admonished me privately for taking things so personally. Other people are simply doing business in the way that they know works for them. If I wasn’t so sensitive, it wouldn’t bother me so much.

And there is some truth to this last assertion. I comfortably identify as a highly sensitive person. (Which is different to being “too sensitive”, by the way.) An article about Why Emotionally Intelligent People Struggle Most in Toxic Workplaces particularly resonated with me. The author states that “the people who feel things most deeply are the ones most easily broken by a toxic environment. Not the most brittle. Not the least capable. The most attuned”. Perhaps it’s because of my sensitivity, which is both a strength and a vulnerability, that I notice cruelty and injustice and want to do all I can to overcome it. But, in unhealthy environments, the article says, the efforts of emotionally intelligent people to improve relationships, have honest conversations and name what isn’t working often go unrewarded and are sometimes brutally punished. 

I also think I became a bit too focussed on cruelty, and started seeing it everywhere. At just the right time, I remembered about a book that a friend gave me called “Human kind”. This book explains that in so much of literature, film and the media there is a deeply rooted belief that humans are by nature selfish, cruel and unkind. That in times of disaster it's every person for themself. Think 'Lord of the Flies', 'Titanic' (the movie), and Hurricane Katrina.

Yet, this book explores actual evidence from history that tells a different story. Humans, it turns out, are overwhelmingly willing to die for strangers, they band together in times of adversity, and are generally decent. Survivors of the twin towers' collapse in New York shared later that people were incredibly generous towards one another during that catastrophe, even insisting that strangers go ahead of them down the fire stairs, knowing that such kindness could cost them their own life. During WW2, leaders of both England and Germany assumed that civilisation would quickly collapse following the bombing of a major city. Yet, ordinary people in both countries continued with their everyday lives, demonstrating humour, resilience and courage. And after the dust settled in New Orleans, it turned out that the extent of looting, rape and murder was nowhere near what the media had implied. Instead researchers found that the overwhelming majority of activity during the aftermath of the hurricane was pro-social in nature.  

And there is the story of Celine Cremer, a Belgian hiker who went missing in Tasmania. People came over from several other states of Australia and even from overseas, without knowing this person, to participate in the search. Celine’s mother gave an emotional thank you speech at the end of the search. The idea that complete strangers would do this for her family gave her immense comfort and hope about humanity. Perhaps, the book suggests, those with power, whose intentions are questionable, assume that everyone else is the same. In reality, the vast majority of us behave in ways that are helpful, community-oriented and kind. 

Back to the question of walking cheerfully over the earth answering that of God in others. How do I do this with integrity when there’s been significant hurt or injustice? I turned to those more enlightened than me for answers. The Desiderata poem which I have displayed in my hallway offers balanced advice, saying "As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all people". I hold onto that idea of 'without surrender'. And when I recently watched Emily Provance’s 2025 Swarthmore Lecture on "A Testimony of Community", one of the minutes she shares at the end hints at how to find that balance: “How we respond to provocation is how we demonstrate Christ’s way”.  Theologian Walter Wink outlines how "Christ’s way" of responding to provocation is, in fact, deeply radical. Rejecting the paths of passive submission and violent retaliation, Jesus suggests a third way of nonviolent resistance. This approach demands immense moral courage and creativity to assert one's humanity without resorting to the violence of one's opponent.

Well, the past six months has been a lesson in leaning in to that challenge. I’ve gravitated towards teams and community groups where empathy, honesty, integrity and courage are valued and lived out. This has restored my faith in “human kind”, and I feel a strength, a calm, and a sense of emotional safety return. And in times of provocation, so to speak, I have tried to draw on the strength gained from these positive experiences to set and maintain boundaries, participate in creative, non-violent actions to oppose structural violence, and respectfully cut ties when the relationship is not likely to improve. And I've found that the bitterness that I felt so strongly at the time of the house sale has gradually been replaced with a degree of compassion. We left the family home for the last time with a strong sense of community that had been built over several decades, and of being held by a force greater than ourselves. I hope that the new owners also experience the joy and fulfilment that comes with being part of communities of human kind-ness.  

The seat my brother made

*name changed

Wild and precious day

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean —

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down —

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

- Mary Oliver

Each year in early August all staff at my workplace are given a day off - a gesture of appreciation for our hard work throughout the year. And I wondered, as the day approached, how I might spend my one wild and precious day off. Although mid winter for me, I still wanted to create space for a bit of idleness, perhaps a social catch up, reading in a hammock or painting or watching passers-by. I also wanted to reflect on the year so far.

On a rainy day in late December last year I attended a collaging workshop. Sheltering in a small marquee with rickety card tables and milk crates for seats, my fellow participants and I flicked through magazines and vintage picture books in search of appropriate images while the rain continued to pelt the roof and form puddles around the perimeter of our tent. I somehow found myself drawn to several different pictures, reflecting aspects of myself and how I wanted my next year to be. A New Year’s Intention collage, if you will.

The image of a child, looking very much like me as a girl, sits at the centre of the final piece. I wanted my inner child, often present even in my 5th decade, to feel safe, considered and heard. And the outdated, dinosaur part of me is there too. I wanted to challenge myself to embrace change, growth and fresh perspectives even when I feel resistant. There’s a sense of colour, playfulness, beauty, sexiness and celebration throughout. I wanted to give space in my life for the intellectual, the creative, and the absurd. The word “power” appears, superimposed upon a large gathering of people. 

So, in our line of work we sometimes conduct a mid term review of a project. We want to know what's worked well, what hasn't, and what needs to change so we can meet our objectives. So, how have my New Year's intentions measured up so far? 

In the relational facets of life, there have surprises, disappointments and several opportunities for growth, strength, and to “listen to my gut”. I haven’t always listened to that niggling voice, but she’s usually right and I’m getting better at trusting her these days. I continue to express my perspective with truth and kindness, know my worth, negotiate better outcomes for myself and others and walk away from what isn’t working. By introducing playfulness, humility and vulnerability amongst colleagues earlier in the year, there is now a much stronger team collaboration that I’m really excited about.

As I made my way down leafy tree-lined streets towards the café where I was to meet a friend on my wild and precious day, I stopped to smell and take in the flowers. A small gallery in a suburban corner shop-front displayed a glorious autumnal felt coat in the window. Fascinated by the deep orange tones, and the large buttons, I gazed in awe. Unusual pottery dotted throughout the front window display caught my eye, and a woman waved at me almost imperceptibly from behind a sign saying “open by appointment only”. 

One subject that troubled me earlier in the year was a lack of unity amongst Quakers about Palestine. Through offering my perspective and inviting Friends to a conversation, I was part of a really powerful gathering in July where Friends opened up about fears, frustrations and deep heartache, leading to some strong statements being made publicly. It felt like the Spirit was moving amongst us as we listened deeply and were vulnerable. These are the moments and changes that feel most significant to me and we now have the momentum to shift more minds and hearts. 

And there have been changes to do with family. As Dad increases the frequency of his walking to twice daily, he’s found that he can make the trip up the street to Woollies with his newly acquired canvas shopping trolley, a venture that until a couple of months ago he hadn’t attempted for almost five years. The reward of a skinny cappuccino in a nearby café follows a now weekly shopping venture. Yet, as his memory for PINs, and online payment processes and his breakfast routine wax and wane, his appreciation for the important things in life seems to steadily grow. Dad expresses touching appreciation for visits and I've come to also enjoy sharing stories of the past week, and the distant past. We’re getting back into writing up his stories, reflections and perspectives, which will form a lovely memory piece once completed. There are also elements of the absurd that become exaggerated in the re-telling, and I realise that I’m just as fascinated with how our brain works when it slows down as when it starts up. 

I’ve been watching “The Marvellous Mrs Maisel” over the past couple of weeks, and I admire the self-confidence and vulnerability of the witty protagonist, a fictional woman in the late 1950s (said to be based on a real person) who discovers in herself a comedic talent at a time of great adversity and pursues this unusual, playful and bold direction with hilarious results. Drama ensues. Perhaps there are possibilities and lessons for my life in that example.

As my wild and precious day draws to a close, I’m glad to have had time to be social, to reflect, to read and to write and be idle in the corner table of another local café. In the next half of the year, I want to explore more of the creative and absurd - they are going to be my lifeline as other facets of my world will demand increasing portions of my mental and emotional resources. I’ll need to continue to listen to and trust my instinct, recalibrate continually so that the “other focussed” dominant gene steps back from the automatic mode of accommodating others’ needs and demands and lets the “self" aware part take centre stage. Laughter, time with friends, and hugs will all have a part to play in Act 2.

Connected

My sister recently recommended “Better date than never” as a feel good reality show. And, as it happened, after a particularly challenging day at work, I plonked myself down on my couch, turned on the tv, and discovered with delight that an episode had just begun.

Approximately 30 seconds into a simple scene with one of the dating hopefuls, a middle aged trans woman called Di, I had tears trickling down my face. Di was eating scones with her mother and discussing why it's been so hard to find her person. Suitably captivated by Di's story, I started watching from the beginning and met Charles, who gets hopelessly tongue-tied during his first ever date, and dancing queen Olivia who is brimming with excitement on a second date. I find myself cringing, smiling and celebrating along with them. My heart is full. 

Screenshot of Better Date than Never on Iview

Each of these people speaks openly and with vulnerability about their yearning for connection, and equally powerful fear of rejection, a tension that is such a relatable part of the human condition. Sometimes we humans act on that fear, either clinging to something not quite right because we are afraid of being alone, or sometimes we pre-empt and avoid rejection by quickly ending things ourselves. Sometimes we act with love, either letting someone go because we know the vibe isn’t right and then celebrating when they meet someone who truly sparks joy for them, or we lean in and explore what might be possible when a new and surprising connection forms.

I begin to think of my own life in relation to the highs and lows of the age-old search for love, connection and belonging. I've somehow ended up in a couple of back to back breakups lately, with each one being painful in its own way, regardless of whether I made the decision or the other person. I can relate to Olivia as she struggles to find the words to tell her first date she isn't romantically interested, and Charles as he accepts that one of his dates isn't interested in taking things further with him. I also think of other, non-romantic relationships where things have suddenly become awkward or tense. I have tended to reflect later that they might have been in the pain of feeling rejected, or been hoping for a stronger connection but haven’t known how to ask for it.

The other morning I was reminded in a facebook post (one of the ones that are “suggested” for me) of Rumi’s message that the wound is the place where the light can enter. I’ve resonated with quotes along similar lines - that cracks are what let the light in, or that pain and discomfort are our teacher. I am inspired by the phrase “Broken and Tender” used by Quaker theologian Margory Post Abbot to describe not a person in pain, but a community that is thriving, nourishing, open and connected. The broken part talks of breaking open our hearts enough to allow the light to shine in, or breaking the earth in order to allow a seed to grow. The tenderness is about tenderness to the spirit, or an openness to being led in unexpected directions. A broken and tender community contains people who have “broken apart the bounds of the ego”, and experienced pure love. It is ready and able to be tender in the care of its members and more passionate in its concern for the wellbeing of the world. 

Art by Annie Hanman, part of "suggested" facebook post

As I tend to my own thrice broken heart, I can see the opportunities for learning, growth, tenderness and courage. I’m grateful for friends and communities who remind me of the abundant, beautiful and nourishing connections that have been so important to me in my life. 

And, as the courageous characters in Better Date than Never are finding, disappointment is a natural part of the journey towards connection. Sometimes our spirited seekers experience the pain and disappointment of things not working out and sometimes they find themselves surprised and delighted with a new connection. They manage to handle these situations with grace, kindness and a sense of gratitude for the learning experience. They are an example to the rest of us.