By Michael Moran
If you're like me, you have gone through some challenges in the last few months. This is a universal experience on planet Earth. When the pandemic started, I spent so much time alone, thinking. Early on, I began to think about my time alone as an opportunity to read and learn. I started with a question: How can I be a better person? Now, after many months of contemplation and hundreds of miles of thinking while running through the woods, I'm excited to announce an answer to this question:
I was asking the wrong question.
The real question I should be asking myself is, what am I doing that goes beyond myself and is of service to others? It's big stuff, and I think a much better, less self-absorbed question. I'm not talking about volunteering at homeless shelters or donating plasma, which are great ways to be of service. It's something more elemental than that.
On my runs recently, I have been absorbing book after book through the Audible app. It has been a game changer for me. I've spent hours in my head listening to Marcus Aurelius, Ryan Holiday, Malcolm Gladwell, Ibram X. Kendi, James Nestor, and more. The readings range from philosophy to science, self improvement, or enlightenment. I've begun my education in anti-racism, delved deeper into stoicism, and improved meditation and breathwork practices, all while seeking my flow state on the run. Yet, most of all, I am struck with the same realization book after book: we are a product of the world around us and of the messages we receive, the actions we take, and the influences we allow. We are powerfully connected to each other. We can so easily be manipulated or misled, but also so easily be made better by learning from those around us. We are also capable of questioning our thoughts and either accepting or rejecting them in service of trusting ourselves.
There is something special about moving our bodies and thinking through life's inquiries at the same time. It seems like we are in a state of forward momentum, not only through motion but through thought. We problem solve and explore. I have solved countless problems in my life simply by going for a run. The solution just shows up. This year has been especially problematic, and running has never been more vital.
The pandemic has been a challenge for all of us. We all know how it feels to be isolated and miss our communities. I identify strongly with runners, as well as the outdoor community. It is almost like a career title: trail runner and hiker. For us, we are all eager to get back to what we love to do with each other: run races, compete, find connections with those like us, and even return to shared spaces safely.
We will soon be entering a transition in which we will slowly come back together, and after the trauma of the last few months, there will be a lot of fear and trepidation about reuniting. It will be a long time before life will begin to feel normal. How do we start? How do we get back to what we love to do, side by side?
Months ago, when this pandemic began, we eagerly reached out through social media and found clever ways to connect. This was when the energy was fresh, but now it seems many people have gotten used to the isolation. So much so that some avoid eye contact with people on the streets. People pass by one another without even an acknowledgment.
Our connections with each other are critical to our health and wellbeing. We need to feel each other's presence. We need to begin the transition into a physical community, slowly and safely. However, we are not ready to just dive into this. Let's start by recognizing each other and understand that it will take time to build back what has felt absent.
When I asked myself how to be a better person, I had to consider how I was contributing to the world. I had to consider the "work" I do that would make me that better person. For me, this is teaching, writing, and being a good father. It's also the way I treat people and the way I behave. This is my work, and for you, it will be different; however, it will result in the same conclusion: The work we are doing, if it is to be important in any way (and by importance, I mean that others validate and think it is worthy and good) must be intended as a service to others. Otherwise, we may value our work all we want, and others may see it as interesting, but it will hold no value for anyone else. To do important work is to stop asking how to better ourselves in favor of how to be of service to others. May our work be a pursuit toward something beyond our immediate gratification and self preservation. As I said, we are so easily influenced. How can we be the best influence possible?
In 2011, I was given a tiny elm sapling at a farmer's market outside of Boston. I was told a story as well about how New England was once brimming with elm trees. They lined the ritzy streets of beautiful suburban neighborhoods, tall and gorgeous, connected by their roots. They cascaded over long country roads until the 1930s when the trees suddenly began to die. A blight of Dutch Elm Disease nearly eradicated the entire species. The blight was brought on by a beetle whose eggs led to a fungus growth, which caused the tree to deprive itself of water. Not only did one tree die, but on many occasions, the intertwined roots shared the information about the disease. It caused the root systems to shut down, and the neighboring trees also died. Since these trees were so common and close together, the blight left ghosts of trees in a path of destruction beyond New England and across the country. It wasn't just the beetle or the fungus that decimated this species, but the fact that the trees communicated and shared the news of the attack through their roots that was a pertinent factor in their death.
Trees talking to each other through their roots seems far-fetched, but this isn't the only example of this phenomenon. There are many. Trees share water and nutrients through networks and also use them to communicate. Trees send distress signals about disease and drought or insect attacks, and they alter their behavior when they receive these messages.
Battle Road Trail, Concord, Massachusetts
Trees can work together in harmony, yet they can also destroy each other. More importantly, they are deeply intertwined and connected underground in ways we don't see on the surface. This is a beautiful metaphor for how all life is connected. It's also a haunting metaphor for how quickly we can harm each other with the messages we send to one another. Just as easily as we can call each other forward into our best selves through motivating, encouraging, and non-judgmental compassion, we have the power to harm each other (and ourselves) with what we say and do. We have the power to perpetuate fear of one another and fear of returning to each other. Isolation breeds more fear, so let's find ways to unite.
In all these months of thinking, running, and reading, my biggest takeaway is that life isn't about me. It is our people who make life joyful and worth struggling for. The more we isolate and detach ourselves from the people around us, the more we forget that our communities are what it's all about. We need each other more than ever, but in the world of the pandemic, many of us have fallen out of practice with being part of a whole.
Where do we start? Just wave. Say hi. Nod. Look at each other in the eyes and maybe do the wrinkle thing with your eyes that makes it look like you're smiling under your mask if you can't work up a smile. Recognize each other.
As a South African friend of mine once told me, "Sawubona "is a Zulu greeting that roughly translates to "I see you (all of you), and you are important to me." I don't pretend to speak Zulu, but there's something beautiful about this phrase. There's empathy in it. I wouldn't recommend going to get it tattooed on your lower back, but it's something worth keeping in mind the next time you unpoetically bark "hey!" at someone.
Consider this a friendly reminder to pick up the phone and call your loved ones and friends again. Write them a letter. You can't understand how important this could be. In March, I sat down to write my grandfather a letter. I wrote to him about how much I loved him and how influential he was in my life. I took my time with it, considering how much he gave to my family and me, and then set it aside before it was finished. I was going to finish it, but before I could, he ended up in a hospital with a fractured rib, then held in rehab, then unable to be released due to the virus, only to pass away from COVID-19 soon after. I placed the letter in his casket a few weeks later. I missed my chance to say what I wanted to say to him, but in writing that letter, I felt I saw him in greater detail. In digging into my ideas of him, I saw how his entire life was aligned with his core values of service to family and service to powers greater than him.
"Compassion is the start."
We hope to be seen by others, but to be of service, we also need to see others. We are all strongly connected by our common roots and can influence each other with our words and actions. In a way, by being of service to others, we are also giving back to ourselves, learning, and transforming in the process. There's a post-pandemic world where we will recover together, and there will be countless opportunities to care for those around us who have had their lives indelibly altered. Compassion is the start.
About the Author
Michael Moran is a writer at Pine Coffee & Cactus, his blog about discovering the world and himself through his adventures outside. He's also an ultrarunner and special education teacher living in Natick, Massachusetts. He studied English Literature at UMass Amherst and has a master's in education. He coaches track and field and cross country for middle schoolers and co-founded the Natick Runners, his local running club. He loves to travel and spends his time with family and friends in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the Rockies of Colorado, and the desert trails of Arizona. You'll often find him at the top of a mountain trail with a burrito in hand and a trucker hat on his head.
