The Bubble
June 30, 2016
Cake drama and socioeconomic privilege.
We live in bubbles. While some of us may have larger bubbles than others, we ultimately exist in a relatively small social sphere. And we are comfortable like that; in fact, it's evolutionarily ingrained to think in this manner. This tribe mentality has assisted in our survival.
In today's times, the boundaries are expanded often. When we travel, read the news, or simply let our mind wander and explore other possibilities, we are leaving our zone of comfort and familiarity. Yet it seems the borders always return to encompass that small circle of family, friends, work, and our surrounding local environment.
Today was one of those days where my own bubble popped. You see, I'm in charge of buying treats for new employee birthdays. Multiple cakes, ice cream bars and junk food galore are the norm and this event was no different. I sent the email to the firm informing them to "save room for dessert!" (and bring on the gluttony, I add in my mind). Minutes later, the first complaint arrived.
"Why are we celebrating before her probationary period has ended?"
*facepalm*
Did my boss and I say that once? If so, I can barely recall. But alas, more complaints came in, and my boss and I decide we must stay consistent. Thirty minutes later, to my embarrassment, the cancellation email was sent. At that point the question remained: what to do with these cakes and treats? My boss had a generous response: donate them.
The cakes and I went for a drive; a welcome one at that considering what a lovely summer day it was. With all of my windows rolled down, I made the journey across downtown, which to my despair felt more like a journey down the social tiers. As the buildings, roads, and people began to transform, I felt a weight settle in my heart. Here I was, a blonde business professional who mistakenly bought cake too soon, suddenly realizing the triviality of the situation. You see, my bubble was beginning to expand.
I can't identify the moment where my bubble snapped; was it the single mother of three in line to fill their empty bellies? the ragged couple digging through the trash cans for cent-valued items? or was it looking into the exhausted, dead eyes of the volunteers behind the desk? The truth flooding into the void tasted sour, but was welcomed as it quietly filled my mind.
I left the sweets with volunteers and made my way back to the car through the relatively busy streets. I felt uncomfortable, tense, and overly conspicuous. This was another world; a place where human decency is rare - and for good reason. When your priority as a human to survive is continuously challenged, ones mental health suffers. No one deserves that kind of life, and of course anyone would agree. But driving back to work I couldn't help but feel the weight on my shoulders lifting as the money gradually returned to the streets. Already the distance was softening the truths I had so recently swallowed.
What is one to do? I lapse into a pensive mood, glancing at the large crack in my windshield, observing the array of different people who live and work in this city. Not all can live a life of dedicated, constant philanthropy. I settle on the decision to maintain a flexible dotted line around my comfort zone; to always strive for generosity and kindness; and to remember that we are all flawed specimens running this rat race, clinging to the concept of discovering inner peace.
