What We Can ALL Learn from Elmo....

I thank Elmo (Elmo Sesame Street) for my return to writing these posts/articles (after a necessary personal period of what I call “deep scuba mode”).

Elmo, a kind, open, friendly muppet from Sesame Street, tweeted on Monday a question on X. A question so simple on the surface. A question that sparked a veritable tidal wave of response. (As of this morning, if I’m interpreting it right, it’s close to 200 million views.)

So seemingly outsized was that response that The New York Times ran a follow-up article observing the phenomena, entitled: “Elmo Asked an Innocuous Question” with a subtitle of “Elmo was not expecting it to open a yawning chasm of despair” (https://www.nytimes.com/2024/01/30/style/elmo-x-question.html). This is what caught my eye, and I was intrigued.

The NYT article quotes Samantha Maltin, chief marketing and brand officer of Sesame Workshop in sharing her perspective of the phenomena: she “thinks the overwhelming engagement with Elmo’s post points to a dire need for free, easy-to-access mental health resources.”

I don’t disagree with that as a need.

Or that she points to the multitude of societal, economic, and geopolitical forces today as sources affecting the mental health – and inter-connected physical well-being – of many, if not all, of us to one degree or another.

Yes, and… I see something deeper at the root.

We are in what I hold as a “Disconnection Epidemic”.

Disconnected from each other – I’d argue in all aspects of life – and even more, disconnected from ourselves.

We have the illusion of connection with others that social media has been carefully cultivating for us for some time, through apps that track likes and followers and views. (Pick your app du jour.) The global pandemic accelerated and deepened this trend, with its required physical social distancing.

What happens in this illusion of connection?

When we really feel something, we get a sense that there is no one to turn to. No one to feel with. To be fully vulnerable to, in all the rawness and the messiness. To simply express things to out loud. To work through whatever we may be wrestling with.

When life inevitably gets hard, messy, painful, dark – we need that connection.

When life is joyful, and we want someone to celebrate with us -- we need that connection.

A connection with someone who shows up for us, and keeps showing up, because what I call their “come from place” is a deep care for us as a human – it’s not about them.

We are inherently – biochemically and psychologically - relational creatures. Neuroscience research has underscored this many times over. We seek others to feed a core need of what I see as witnessing – to be seen, to be heard, to be valued for being simply who you are and all you are, right now. These are the yearnings of the human heart – to be witnessed in this way by others.

Someone who posted a response to Elmo said it with such emotional poignancy, I immediately felt the pang deep within my own heart:

“Somehow this actually legit makes me feel better. Thank you Elmo, for caring.”

Witnessing is a powerful act of kindness, of caring, or love.

What happens when we feel unseen? Unheard? Unappreciated? Not witnessed for the truth and realness of who we fully are in a given moment?

The heart freezes, numbs. It can do so slowly, so we don’t even fully notice it happening. It is an ultimate protective move when parts of us feel or perceive the loss of access to caring connection, to love. We’re kidding ourselves by telling a very tall tale if we say this is not true.

And witnessing benefits the one who is witnessing as well – it is an act of giving, helping another person. Again, scientific research points to the “good feeling" chemicals such as endorphins (a sense of euphoria) and oxytocin (promotes tranquility and inner peace) that are released biochemically when we are involved in acts of giving to others. (As an aside, I don’t see witnessing as a passive role; it is an active one. And the act of witnessing gets diminished, I think, because witnessing is a state of being, not doing. And today’s society and cultures wire us to look for, prioritize, and value acts of doing over acts of being.)

The “Disconnection Epidemic” has even deeper roots. For not only are we increasingly disconnected from others, but we are also disconnected from ourselves: our bodies, our minds, our hearts, our spirits. Some might say they are connected by the self-care they take with their physical bodies – yoga, movement, diet, sleep, etc. That is all very important. But the connection to our minds, hearts, and spirits is equally so.

So, what does that look like? Well, how often do you pause, and in the inner quiet ask yourself the questions: What I am feeling in this moment? Can I simply be with that? What do I need? What are my heart’s core wishes, my spirit’s deepest desires, in this moment?

To what extent do we ask ourselves these questions and pause, holding space for the responses to come forward? If we deny our feelings, and our core wishes, we deny ourselves. For in naming our feelings and the thoughts that go with them, seeking to have our needs met - by ourselves first and foremost, and others as they can, and pursuing our core wishes are all acts of self-love. In ignoring, avoiding, dismissing, or resisting those, we create disconnection from our core essence as human beings. We become un-moored.  And in so doing, we prevent ourselves from being able to access the full range of inner resources and capacities that are within all of us as part of our birthright as humans.

Asking these questions is not a ‘one and done’. It is a continuous inquiry we need to ask ourselves – I’d advocate daily - for we are ever-changing and evolving, as the context around us ever changes and evolves.

So now what? What can you do in this Disconnection Epidemic?

Connect to yourself. In the morning, before you get out of bed. Or in the evening, after you’ve climbed back into bed. Or when you’ve got a few minutes of solitary time in your day, maybe on your commute. Or when you’re getting ready in the morning, and you look in the mirror. Pause. Ask yourself these questions with as much kindness as you would show to the person you love most in this world:

·       What am I feeling in this moment?

·       Can I take a few minutes to simply be with that feeling? To just experience it?

·       What do I need?

·       How can I give that to myself?

·       Is there a request I can make of someone else to help me with that need?

·       What does my heart desire in this moment? How can I give that to myself?

Connect – truly connect - to someone else. As Elmo did, a simple check in with an open-ended question that comes from a place of kindness, with a charge of curiosity (I genuinely want to know) and compassion (I see YOU, I hear YOU) can mean far more to that person than you will ever imagine. It’s most powerful if it’s voice to voice, or face to face.

A question I always start every client session with is: “How are you in this moment?”

I’m not interested in a generic “Good” or “Fine” or “Busy” which is often a default answer to what can feel like a superficial ‘how are you’ question, because a part or parts within us may challenge in our inner speak: Do you really care how I am? Do you really want to listen?

“In this moment” is a key phrase for me because it anchors a person in the now, in what is the present. The question always draws forward a range of different emotions and thoughts than many times my clients are surprised to hear themselves expressing out loud. At the close of a recent session with a client where he named and allowed himself to just experience and be with each of the emotions that were activated for him from a series of recent events, he said, “I feel 10 pounds lighter right now.”

Who is one person you can reach out to today and simply say: I’m thinking about you. How are you in this moment?

Imagine the possibility of what happens if every person who reads this asks this question of both themselves and one other human.

What opening is possible? What release is possible? What sense of kindness, care, and love is sparked in the atmosphere around each of us? Let’s experiment and find out…..

The theme of connection – to ourselves, to others (in all aspects of our lives) – is something that I have ever deepening passion around. It is a key to everything. If this resonates with you, or you have even a spark of curiosity, stay tuned. I’ll be writing about this more, and I have a podcast in the works for a launch soon.

Whoever arrives at these final words, know that I appreciate you for following the impulse to click and read.

Leonard Cohen, a Lyft Driver, and me

By Karin Stawarky

When you tune into the quiet voice deep within or notice a gentle but clear impulse or ‘pull’ towards something, remarkable things can happen. I have opened myself and surrendered to those intuitive callings, as I believe there is a greater wisdom giving ‘lift’ to them.

Last week on the West Coast, I ordered a Lyft back to my hotel. I requested a “quiet ride” in the app because I was tired – it had been a 3:30 am wakeup for a flight, on the heels of a remembrance service the day before for someone deeply beloved to me. That experience of honoring his life had left me emotionally drained and I was not up for engaging in conversation with a potentially chatty driver.

The car pulled up, and as I got in, the driver – I’ll call him Allen – said graciously, “hello, Miss Karin.” Now, very few people I encounter in my travels in life engage in that polite, genuinely respectful way. I didn’t expect it from a young man whom I thought to be in his twenties.

But there was something different I sensed about his presence. A brightness.

He asked where I was coming from, and I replied that I had just had a meeting with someone whose work I admired. And through that meeting, an unexpected gift – an emergent friendship.

I thought that would be that in terms of our interaction – I could turn my head towards the window, or close my eyes, and communicate that silence was desired.

Then deep within me, the soft voice urged – talk to him.

I sighed. Really? Okay, I’ll talk to him.

So, I asked Allen what he liked about being a Lyft driver.

And with that question unlocked one of the most amazing exchanges I’ve had in a long time.

Allen described – in a very upbeat way – how he works 3 jobs. He is very focused on goals that he has for himself, and he works hard to achieve them.

As a former college athlete whose injury prevented him from joining the pros, he is a personal trainer for adults… but he also elects to go back to his high school as a volunteer to coach and mentor kids on the team.  As he talked about the high school team, it was clear that he was not only training bodies, he was training minds – inspiring these teenagers to not only finish school and go to college but also see the possibility and opportunity they could make for themselves as humans.

One of his personal training clients then recruited him to a job in case management – he works with clients who are experiencing housing insecurity and helps place them in a more stable living situation. (This is an urban area that is experiencing a particularly acute issue with homelessness and a shortage of viable housing options.)

His description of the clients he serves in case management was striking. “When I get on the phone with them, sometimes they’ll get mad and start yelling at me. But I know it’s not me that they are mad at. They are angry with something that’s happening in their life or something that happened before the call. I just stay calm, and I tell them: I’m sorry that you’re mad. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to help you, so we can help get you into a better situation.” And he said that most of the time, that seems to calm the client down so that they can actually talk. He and I then discussed how the anger does not define that client as a person. It is a part of them that is activated by something that happened to them or is happening to them. This angry part is trying to protect them in some way.

If you are on the receiving end of the anger, we talked about how you can ask your own mind: ‘can I look through the anger to imagine what’s behind the anger?’ What we can see from that place is that behind the anger is always a fear. Fear that is grounded in belief and story about what a part of them predicts is going to happen, often based on something that did happen at a point in time – something that threatened an aspect of their safety, their belonging or acceptance, their ability to be respected and valued.

“All three jobs are about customer service,” he said. “How you treat people influences how successful you are.”

The way that Allen engaged with the teenagers, the housing clients, and me as Lyft customer illuminated for me how he is living and leading with an open heart. He is able to engage with the other person from a place of calm, connection, compassion, and courage.

He didn’t learn any of this in school. He didn’t learn it in any kind of training. No one directly taught him this or told him to do this or be this way. (I asked him.) His poise, perspective, and wisdom are remarkable. Allen expresses an authenticity that comes from his heart – he is guided by his own inner ‘yardstick’ for success instead of looking outside himself to what I call ‘the invisible they’ for validation.

Allen is a human who is highly observant, deeply reflective, clear about his values, and seeks to live in integrity with them. He also truly believes he can make a difference. That he matters in and to this world.

As we were getting closer to the hotel, he reflected: “I enjoy all three jobs. But I think there is a bigger stage for me… I just don’t know what that is.”

It was clear to me what a powerful force for good Allen is, bringing light to every interaction he has in a given day, including me as a random passenger.

Suddenly a song flashed into my mind (that gentle impulse again). I knew I had to speak it. “Allen, have you heard of Leonard Cohen’s song Anthem?”

Allen didn’t know of the song or Leonard Cohen.

“There’s a line in that song where Leonard sings ‘ring the bells that still can ring.’ Ring that bell, Allen,” I urged. “All we tend to hear about in the world is the hate, the violence, the division. But there is so much light. There is so much goodness. If we look for it, we find it. There are examples of human spirit in everyday life, of one person genuinely connecting with another person and trying to help them. Not because there is anything in it for them as a helper. Because it’s simply the right thing to do. That drive comes from the wisdom of the heart.”

Allen immediately looked up the song and hit play just as we stopped at a red light. As Leonard spoke the first few words, Allen said softly, “Oh wow. I love his voice.”

Leonard’s unique vocals filled the car like we were in a grand cathedral, in reverence. Allen and I were motionless and almost breathless.

After Leonard uttered lines, “Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack, a crack in everything – that’s how the light gets in”, Allen exclaimed, “I’ve got chills all over my body. There is no perfect offering! Yes! Yes! There’s a crack in everything! That’s how the light gets in!”

As we pulled up to the hotel, I said, “we’re all perfectly imperfect as humans, Allen. And we all can be such bright lights in the world, just as we are. Ring the bell that you can ring – keep doing what you are doing. And I know without question a bigger stage for you will present itself for you to shine that light even brighter.”

Allen stopped the car and turned to me, saying, “You wait right there.”

He ran around the car and opened the door for me, a lovely and gentlemanly act. As I got out of the car, I looked up at him (I’m tall, and he’s quite a bit taller than me) and again the impulse came from deep within. “Allen, this is a very odd thing for me to ask a total stranger, but would it be OK if I gave you a hug?”

“Absolutely!” he beamed and folded me into a big bear hug.

He then stood back and looking at me said, “I appreciate you, Miss Karin.”

What did I do? I just asked a question with genuine interest and listened deeply, witnessing him. That is the simple gift I gave to him – seeing him for who he is and how he is in the world, hearing him, honoring him.

The whole exchange was maybe 10, 15 minutes. And the content and energy of the conversation still stay with me.

And Allen gave me a gift, one that I don’t know he does not appreciate the depth of.

He reminded me to ring the bell that still can ring.

The bell that amplifies goodness and love and joy and hope in this world.

Bells can appear when you least expect them.

The bell doesn’t have to be large to matter.  It can be a small bell, but its sound can travel from person to person to person in ways one can’t anticipate or will never know.

Isn’t every interaction we have with another human an opportunity to ring a bell?

What would that look like? How would we choose to show up differently, even in difficult, charged conversations like Allen does with his housing clients?

He reinforced for me yet again that our real gift to the world and to each other is that simple yet that powerful: how we are being, not in what we are doing.