The Brightest In People: A Collection of Moments
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People can be the best.
I do understand the true complexity of humans. Like anyone else, I increasingly get the fact that within myself, within the people I love, within the whole cast of humans whose lives I have intersected with, and also the rest of the world’s inhabitants, there is a blend of light and darkness. I think the worst part about growing up is when the light people get dark. Or maybe the dim spots you’re just now perceiving have always been there, but you were too oblivious or distant in your orbit to tell. And Christ knows that I look at the news most days and think there is nothing apart from His return that can possibly fix the great darkness filling most of the stories on the news. It really can get oppressive, discouraging, and altogether awful, which is why I largely avoid hovering around news reports.
Last week I watched a wildlife documentary (Nat Geo’s Wild Congo). In it a group of male chimps - for some unclear reason - hunt down and savage a nursing mother chimp as “punishment” for something she’s done. The narrator calmly bears witness to this situation and then says in a somewhat drear tone (considering the implications), “The only other group of animals who show such intentional brutality to members of their own kind…are humans.”
There we are: the whole of humanity’s depravity summed up in a parting word from a wildlife documentary-maker.
But.
While there is undeniable savagery and brutality and truly awful things that people can and do at times commit toward others; ways we use our brokenness to break other people; unspeakably awful things the darkest against some of the most light…we can’t forget the millions of light-filled people doing beautiful things at the same time. I have seen some incredibly wonderful glimpses of humanity recently. I don’t want to know if these glimpses represent the whole of that person being filled with brightness, or if they’re just bright flashes against a not so bright life - I’m not here to determine that. I’m only here to notice that there are some very precious and wonderful things to be seen if you raise your eyes from the news sheets, the wildlife documentaries, the endless doom-scroll, and feast on the light shining out from every side. Here, then, are some bright moments I have recently seen…
The Turtle Men
A particular, major canal cuts through my community of Great Bridge: The Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal. Edging this canal is a long, thin park; my nanny kid has adopted this as her favorite park, and we are often there. But the fishermen are even more regular than we are. These peaceable, older gentleman line the sunny side of the canal (which in the mornings is always the park side), and cast lazy lines into the water. They group on the warm grass, sitting on on camp chairs and overturned buckets and sometimes they chat but mostly they’re silent: humans turtles sunning on a warm log. They watch the Great Bridge open for boats at the far end, and a few minutes later click through the lock at the near end. These men are a fixture.
A short time ago a passing barge punctured some waste water pipes beneath the canal. This gray-water accident suspended all water-based activities in the canal till bacteria levels returned to a safe measurement. Of course this meant an end to fishing and crabbing. I missed these turtle-like fishermen. The canal-side looked so empty without their unobtrusive presence keeping us company while we played. After some weeks of this, I pulled my car into the park and saw these gentle men grouped on the shore once more. I knew then that the water was safe, and was glad they hadn’t found a new favorite spot to fish in their absence.
The Slip-Shod Cowgirl
A local farm recently opened for its very first day since the fall. Of course, being mad for their produce, I was there to buy potatoes and cabbage and quart of ruby-red strawberries - some of the sweetest I’ve ever tasted. Working at the stand was a middle-aged woman I recognized from last year: the farmer’s sister.
“I like your cowgirl boots,” she said to my kid, gesturing first to Eliza’s boots and then her own. “They’re just like mine!”
Hers were cracked and peeling, covered in dry dust, showing socks through the toes and out the sides. I have never seen a pair of boots so worn.
“I have a new pair just like these in my truck,” the woman told me, not so much apologetic as proud, “But these are so comfortable. A new pair takes three months to wear in. This is what farm work will do to your pretty boots. Oh well!”
Her contentment to wear broken-in leather so soft it’s now ventilated, touched me. What honest work farming is, and how many years she must have worn those boots by now. I understood her reluctance to replace them just yet. Why would you?
The Surf’s Up Crew
On Thursday our weather was warm enough to have a legitimate beach day! Bathing suit, a swipe of sunscreen, my chartreuse picnic blanket, a hunt for sand-fiddlers, the works. As usual when I choose the ocean beach over the bay, I parked down at the North End. This part of the beach - for those who aren’t locals - is the residential section, past where the Boardwalk ends, past the grand Cavalier Hotel and its beach club.
A woman with her dog passed as I gathered our things and alerted me that I’d picked an ideal day for the beach: “You have a swimming pool waiting for you out there!”
When I got down to the beach I saw what she meant: a clear sky, glimmering sea, and waves that didn’t crash so much as smoothly roll toward the sand. Close to where we camped with our things, a father and two boys climbed into wetsuits and hauled boards out to the wake. It was time for a surf lesson. Soon, another smiling man in a wetsuit arrived on the beach, hauling the other surfers’ belongings above the tideline. He stood then, tanned hand cupped over his eyes, watching the surf lesson at work in the breakers.
The older boy got up frequently and took the small waves with little effort. The younger one, maybe eight years old, was clearly new to the skill and being heavily coached by his sandy-haired father. Those of us on the beach watched as the boy hopped onto his board and caught a wave at last, riding it for some distance before falling off sideways into the water.
“YEAH. WOOO!!!” The smiling man on the beach clapped as loudly as he could. He didn’t just clap - he cheered and whistled for the kid like he’d just watched him surf Peahi or something. Then, without any other communication, the smiling guy joined his fellow surfers in the water: a comfortability in their shared love of a sport overcoming any potential shyness. Surfers are amazing for this quality alone; you will never find a group of people who cheer louder for a stranger’s success, nor ones who so easily make friends on a beach.
The Kindly Hunter
In my nanny kid’s neighborhood there exists a large pond that has become somewhat naturalized over time, despite its genesis in an urban planner’s office. On an almost nightly basis we take a post-nap walk to “fish” at the pond together. By “fishing” she means taking very long willow wands and other twigs and dipping them to the pond’s bottom while sitting on the mossy bank. This really isn’t hard to do, as the pond is about a foot deep at this point. She dredges up dead leaves and duck weed and we throw dried apples for the turtles (Coco, Lemonhead, and Lucky) who come up to see exactly what we think we’re doing in their corner of the pond. Sometimes we see herons stalking through the shallows, or mallards come to rest, and once I saw a bald eagle take a fish.
Sometimes people from the neighborhood who are there to actually fish also show up at the pond. We watched one high school-aged boy fishing not far from us. He cast his line and within two minutes had hooked a large bass. Carefully - with a level of intention and gentleness I don’t automatically assume I’ll find in high school boys - he unhooked the line from its lip, held the bass up to admire it, and took a small ruler from his backpack to see how long it was. We watched him, curious as to what he would do next. He weighed the fish, took a photo of it, and then released it back into the water. We watched him do this over and over again in the time we sat by the pond: catch a fish, admire it, let it go. They were large, covetable fish too - not the sort that most people would casually release.
What I really loved about this boy was his gentle spirit. Any kid who chooses to spend an hour under a willow tree, catching and releasing fish on a spring night rather than playing video games or scrolling on his phone is a good kid. He looked so happy; and I was happy watching his happiness. I hope he grows up to become a man who cares more about simple enjoyment than personal possession; at a casual glance, think he’ll do just fine.
The Social-Skills Student
My nanny kid is the best thing. I personally think she’s a genius but hey - doesn’t everyone say that about their preferred toddler? She’s observant, intelligent, clever, hilarious, brutally honest, and just a little uncertain how to interact with other small human beans her own age. At three and a half she’s still figuring out how her own life works, let alone the complexities of the social dynamics of other three year-olds. I love to watch her parse things out for herself because this kid is a studious little thing. After playing at the beach for two hours in her own personal tide pool, she came to me to be wrapped up in a sun-warmed towel. We rested for a while together, her little shivering, sandy body tucked tightly up against my warm one, her damp head wedged under my chin while I hummed “Sailboat” and waited for the sun to take away her chill.
After a little while she began to ply me with a variety of questions regarding a group of kids a couple dozen yards away. Most of them were around her age, and she was full of inquiries: what were they doing? Who were they? How were they building their sand castle? Why?
Her sweet, intent gaze was fixed on those kids with the full power of a child who Intends To Understand. Clearly she, like a miniature anthropologist, was filing away each of my answers about the other children and assimilating a mental plan.
Then, all at once, she threw away the towel and jumped off my lap. “Rach, I think I’m going to ask those kids if I can build a sand castle with them.”
I looked at her little freckled nose and her intense green eyes and was so overwhelmed with pride for the little brave person she’s becoming. It isn’t easy being only three and breaking into a clan of six children who have been assiduously working on a drip castle for twenty minutes to ask for their friendship. But reader? She did.
This is a list of brightness I have encountered in the span of one week. I began to write them down because the truth is, darkness is always more imposing and noticeable than the light if you’re not looking around you. I am thankful that I have eyes to see and a mind that can notice these people who are living gently, speaking kindly, thinking about someone other than themselves. I want to be this sort of a person.
So here’s to the humans who make our lives better, richer, and more delightful. Here’s to the ones you know well and the ones you passed on a street corner. And if you’re feeling discouraged, overcome by evil, or weighed down in any way, take this week to notice. I promise you’ll see the light coming through.