Our Shared Humanity
“Are you the Mansi Shah who wrote the article on ‘aparigraha’ (non-attachment) for the Young Jains of America (YJA)?” he asked me in his large partner office when I first started the practice of law over a decade ago. A little afraid of the question when he asked, I stood silently and nodded yes. He explained how he had read much about Jainism and its tenets and how they resonated with him. I never in my wildest imagination would believe that a partner at an AmLaw100 law firm would be researching my obscure religion.
This partner ended up taking me under his wing when I was a baby lawyer, and through him I saw what it meant to be a leader, mentor, and friend in the legal profession. He was a Marine, and he led his legal team in the way that a Marine would, where he took care of every member of his team.
Without him, I am certain I would not be practicing law today.
Yesterday, I took a trip to see this upstanding human whom I owed much of my success. My drive was filled greenery and natural beauty. I took deep breaths on that drive up not knowing what I would feel when I finally got to see my friend. A few weeks ago, he was in a terrible accident and is now paralyzed from the chest down.
When I saw him yesterday what I felt was an unknown type of bliss. One where I understood the pain and sadness that surrounded his new situation, but still celebrated that he was with us and so present; when he spoke, it felt like we were given a gift to have his compassionate and truth-loving spirit still on this Earth. I felt so lucky to have a role model, who, even when embarking on this difficult new chapter, showed me resilience and grace.
While at the hospital visiting him, I overheard two strangers — a man from Alaska and a woman from Japan talking to one another. The Japanese woman broke down in tears as she barely got out her words about what had just happened, and the Alaskan man embraced her and reminded her to take deep breaths.
I bore witness to what makes our shared humanity so beautiful: the ability to connect with an absolute stranger in our most vulnerable of moments.
She was on a cruise with her partner when he suffered a heart attack. She had no family in this town, didn’t know anyone, and was trying to understand whether her partner would make it. The man reassured her that her partner was getting the best care. He shared that he had undergone open heart surgery a year ago at this very hospital and that they would take good care of her partner. He went so far as giving her his number and opening his home to her should she need anything because she was not from the area.
Then this morning, I was able to share with my friend a fairly heavy and substantial card from his childhood friend. His friend had sent him a challenge coin from the Navy, with a note that made us all cry. My friend’s wife became emotional as she started to read it, so I was given the honor to read it to him. As I read it, my eyes started to water. It was a beautiful way to mark this new challenge and chapter in his life, with the reminder that these challenge coins are earned and he had earned it. His childhood friend also reminded him not to ever, ever ring the bell.
Watching my mentor and friend take in that message from an old childhood friend, and weep like the Japanese woman had with a complete stranger, was beautiful and profound.
On my way back, I stopped to catch some of the natural beauty in this part of our country and saw how it mirrored our humanity. When trees fall, other trees often hold them up, tree roots talk to one another, and miraculously berries and flowers make their way to the surface.
I am so grateful to my friend for being who he is — a compassionate and honest human being who brings out the best in so many we collectively know. And I am grateful that during this trip, whether it was an old friend or a complete stranger, I was able to witness the beauty of our shared humanity.
