Issue #21 | View PDF
Search
Advanced searchOpinions
Sometimes it pays to think small
By Kai Jansson
Living in our fast-paced culture, with its rapid transit, alluring entertainment, and lack of substantial human contact, do you ever long for a simpler way of life? Do you ever just lay down on your bed and daydream about possibly living as part of a tight-knit community, where everyone depends upon everyone else, where you feel needed, and where the bonds you knit with others are very strong because you depend upon them, and they upon you? Many of us long for this kind of lifestyle to a certain extent, and all of us need to be needed. This need is a vital component of all families, societies, and civilizations.Our social lives have changed much over the last century. We, as city-dwellers, no longer live in the small towns of old, where everyone knows everyone else, and where—if you are in need—the whole town will pitch in to help. I imagine most of our grandparents and ancestors lived in these kinds of societies at one time. Some of us have been fortunate enough to have even experienced them firsthand. I have fond memories of growing up in Pinkham, Saskatchewan, a pioneer town with fewer than 75 people, many of whom would gather together for town socials at a local farm. While each of us children would go out into the woods and explore, playing tag and capture the flag, the women-folk would go knit and bake cookies, and the men-folk would sit in their chairs and argue about politics and farm implements. I fully realize how boring and rather sexist it sounds, but it was actually quite reassuring to me as a young child. There was something comforting about seeing all these familiar faces, all my adopted “aunts” and “uncles” and other characters, all together, laughing and making each other happy just by being there.
The cities we live in now, however, do not and cannot provide the same situations that you’d find in a small prairie village. For example, we may see a person in scruffy clothes, crying and squirming on a sidewalk and we avert our eyes and quicken our pace; or, if we’re the curious type, we stare out of our car windows as we pass by, doing nothing, often also feeling nothing. We are so numbed by the sheer amount of people in the city that we feel we can’t possibly help everyone. We justify this feeling by saying things like, “What good would it do to help that person when there’s fifty more needing just as much help waiting in line?” It’s as if we’re seeing the entire population of a city through a telescope, and confronted by the numbers we glaze our eyes, not considering that there is merely one person standing before us, and that we ought to help that person. We can’t win by expanding our scope too wide. However, even if we only help one other person in this life, that still means something—especially to that one person.
Let’s say that weeping man in scruffy clothes was suddenly transported onto the gravel road of a tiny villa in rural England. The people there, instead of ignoring him (as if anyone in such a condition could really be ignored in a small village), would likely see him moaning and put their hands on his shoulder to help him up, while shouting to others to come. They would put a warm blanket around his disheveled form and take him into Mr. and Mrs. Hobley’s living room, setting him by the fire to warm up. They would offer food and drink and ask what they could do to help, with concern and care in their voices. They would not try to convince themselves that there are simply too many people to help, that they couldn’t put their lives on pause to help even one. They would simply see a person who is crying out for help and help him.
I know it sounds strange to say this, but we must as city-dwellers stop looking at the big picture and begin to think in terms of the day-to-day and person-to-person. It’s somewhat akin to biking up a steep hill. In order to make it up, you may use the technique of focusing your vision on a clear target only a few feet in front of you, and once you’ve reached that target, you find another target, a few feet beyond the last one. Reaching several small goals that make up the main goal of reaching the top can make it much easier than trying for that larger main goal. If you make the top of the hill your only goal, you might simply stop and scream, “I give up! It’s impossible! It’s too far!” and just walk the rest of the way or give up altogether. But by taking it step-by-step you can fool your mind into thinking, “Hey, it’s only a couple of feet, I can do that.” If, in your life, there is an obstacle so big that you can’t see past it, try to think of it as one big puzzle, composed of many pieces, each piece smaller than your hand. You probably won’t find it hard to get past an obstacle that small. Once you’ve gotten past that minor obstacle, just go for the next one.
Sometimes it’s good to be short-sighted. Just leave the telescope at home.