Optimism and the Bubble
I always read the Sunday edition of The Gazette-- first the front page and comics, then the ads, then the Parade magazine. But today I wish I'd read Parade before Mary Worth and the "People" section. The front cover of Parade displays the headline "Proud To Be An American." I thought this signaled the usual patriotic, post-Sept. 11 soldier-praising fare. But this time the title article turned out to be a feature by Dr. Isadore Rosenfeld on the ship Mercy, a naval hospital vessel. Dr. Rosenfeld described the Mercy's trip to Indonesia after the December 26 tsunami. For 40 days, the volunteer medical crew provided much-needed sanitation, immunization, and emergency treatment to residents of the Banda Aceh region. Next the ship drifted in the Flores Sea, offering aid to towns unaffected by the tsunami disaster. Rosenfeld claims that in this region, the peoples' need for aid was much greater than anticipated. "I have never in my life seen so much rampant, unrecognized, undiagnosed and untreated disease- entire communities riddled by malaria, tuberculosis… malnutrition… abscesses…" (Parade June 12, pg. 5).
This really got me thinking. I live in a bubble. A cushy, isolated, very well-established bubble. I don't fear for my life on a daily basis-- nor do I worry that my brother and sister should starve to death, my mom perish from her cough, or my dad be arrested by a totalitarian government. At the moment, my greatest concern involves my choice of classes for college next year. And even this concern is a rather lucky predicament-- at college and beyond, there are amazing opportunities available to me. Quite simply, I have everything I could possibly ask for. I must struggle or sacrifice for nothing. I inhabit an environment of almost absolute safety and am secure in my country's maintenance of individual freedom. Why have I been born into such a welcoming world? What has forbidden the countless African AIDS victims or impoverished Asian children from taking my place? I don't know. Nor do I want to presume that I was "chosen" by God to live in America. Some might argue that Americans, as a unique people, toiled for years to build their prosperous and inviting nation. If others wish to partake in a secure and rich lifestyle, mustn’t they create it for themselves through persistence and hard work? Poverty is sometimes viewed as a feature of human nature, an unavoidable result of mankind's incompetence.
I describe this outlook with the single word "pessimism." Like the truly pessimistic individual, it allows little room for tolerance, outreach, understanding, or improvement. An increasingly heeded, overwhelming message seems to summarize pessimism: You cannot change the world. In fact, you can't change anything-- so for God's sake, accept your surroundings as they are!
But surely you've once felt so lonely or sad that you became downright desperate for some company. "Please," you implore as you sit alone in your silent room. "If this could only end, I'd be profoundly grateful to my savior-- be it my little sister, my friend, or my neighbor. I know everybody is away and that the chances of their arrival are very slim. But please--anybody! Just burst through the door and I'll love you forever!" Corny and unrealistic as it sounds, that loneliness the only metaphor I have to describe the isolated and hopeless suffering endured by so many people. If just one person's pain may be ended through outreach and concern… why not? The inconvenience and risk of bringing about this end are cancelled out by simple, profound gratitude and relief. And as an optimist, I contend that relief for one person is a substantial start to conquering the rampant problems observed by Dr. Isadore Rosenfeld in today's Parade magazine.
So that is how the Sunday paper succeeded in penetrating my bubble, an event that I acknowledge as very rare. But I hope that someday I'll have the courage to venture outside the bubble for the first time… maybe even help bring an end to someone's suffering.
This really got me thinking. I live in a bubble. A cushy, isolated, very well-established bubble. I don't fear for my life on a daily basis-- nor do I worry that my brother and sister should starve to death, my mom perish from her cough, or my dad be arrested by a totalitarian government. At the moment, my greatest concern involves my choice of classes for college next year. And even this concern is a rather lucky predicament-- at college and beyond, there are amazing opportunities available to me. Quite simply, I have everything I could possibly ask for. I must struggle or sacrifice for nothing. I inhabit an environment of almost absolute safety and am secure in my country's maintenance of individual freedom. Why have I been born into such a welcoming world? What has forbidden the countless African AIDS victims or impoverished Asian children from taking my place? I don't know. Nor do I want to presume that I was "chosen" by God to live in America. Some might argue that Americans, as a unique people, toiled for years to build their prosperous and inviting nation. If others wish to partake in a secure and rich lifestyle, mustn’t they create it for themselves through persistence and hard work? Poverty is sometimes viewed as a feature of human nature, an unavoidable result of mankind's incompetence.
I describe this outlook with the single word "pessimism." Like the truly pessimistic individual, it allows little room for tolerance, outreach, understanding, or improvement. An increasingly heeded, overwhelming message seems to summarize pessimism: You cannot change the world. In fact, you can't change anything-- so for God's sake, accept your surroundings as they are!
But surely you've once felt so lonely or sad that you became downright desperate for some company. "Please," you implore as you sit alone in your silent room. "If this could only end, I'd be profoundly grateful to my savior-- be it my little sister, my friend, or my neighbor. I know everybody is away and that the chances of their arrival are very slim. But please--anybody! Just burst through the door and I'll love you forever!" Corny and unrealistic as it sounds, that loneliness the only metaphor I have to describe the isolated and hopeless suffering endured by so many people. If just one person's pain may be ended through outreach and concern… why not? The inconvenience and risk of bringing about this end are cancelled out by simple, profound gratitude and relief. And as an optimist, I contend that relief for one person is a substantial start to conquering the rampant problems observed by Dr. Isadore Rosenfeld in today's Parade magazine.
So that is how the Sunday paper succeeded in penetrating my bubble, an event that I acknowledge as very rare. But I hope that someday I'll have the courage to venture outside the bubble for the first time… maybe even help bring an end to someone's suffering.