Empathizing with Rich People is Tough
“Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don’t wait for it. Don’t plan it. Just let it happen.” I learned these words from Twin Peaks’ Agent Dale Cooper a long time ago. He was referring specifically to a cup of “good, hot, black coffee,” but also to anything that brings you joy in life, however seemingly insignificant. I’ve tried hard to live by that credo. And though it’s paid dividends, you don’t always know what your present will be, or whether or not you actually want it when you “let it happen.”
Last week, I was given a gift of tremendous value, but it was not at all something I was looking or hoping for.
My present was this marriage announcement in the New York Times—titled “The Sound of Music Is in His Blood and Now His Heart.” Celebrating the union of two people of wealth and little consequence, the announcement exhibits remarkably minimal awareness of its own privilege, pomposity, and whimsical peculiarity.
Though I think it’s extremely important to read the announcement itself, here is an emblematic excerpt:
Early in the summer of 2014, [Nathaniel] invited [Jane] and some other friends to his family’s house on Martha’s Vineyard. “It was a disaster weekend for me,” [Jane] said. “My hat blew off while we were sailing. I lost my sunglasses in the water. Nathaniel and I went swimming and there was a riptide.”
As a result of a very particular tone, the piece has become a viral hit. For many, it’s being passed around for a good laugh, and I got a bit of that too. The gleefully unbridled privilege creates seemingly involuntary, joyous eye rolls. Who are these people who over-laud such pedestrian traits and connections? And your wedding announcement in the New York Times? I guess the NYT is the “local paper” for the global elite—so now we’re all to read about someone who learned Latin and likes to sing opera to himself.
But the piece also caused me a strong, immediate gasp of introspection, and unexpectedly knocked the wind out of me for a different reason than humorous glee.
It’s clearly my present today. But unlike coffee, it’s tough to swallow.
In the last few years, I have made empathy and sympathy my largest growth aims. I believe that empathy is the key to happiness in any society, and have been working to find it in every aspect of my life — whether it be with boorish neighbors, ex-girlfriends, people on the street, in stores, airports, and bank lines, net denizens who apparently dislike my writing for some reason, etc.
I’ve been trying to find points of connection to increase my knowledge of the human condition and the world. Lofty, new-age-y, and a bit arrogant, I know. But I’ve been extremely happy so far as a result, despite often failing in execution. And I strive every day to get better.
My grandfather always implored: “Everyone has something to teach you, always.” And I firmly believe that. With this simple Von Trapp wedding announcement, I received the gift of my empathy mountain—my largest challenge yet to surmount. It might be easy to thrash these literal pedestals of value, but there’s infinitely more to gain by learning from them and finding understanding. But boy, is it hard. Especially for me.
We all have personal biases we attempt to overcome. For example, disliking people who disagree with you politically, or people who like Papa Roach. But one of my most entrenched biases is against exactly who this announcement represents. Affluent people of immense privilege who believe that a personal connection of Warby Parker sunglasses is something worthy of public acclaim.
My immediate reaction to the piece is encapsulated in a friend’s tweet (for whom I’ve written some film reviews, by the way):
These are the exact people much of our society reflexively cringes at, and it’s the case with me as well. But something was different in that writing. Maybe because this is an innocent wedding announcement—something this couple surely didn’t write (as it’s usually the parents who are sticklers about the traditional wedding-announcements-in-the-papers thing), nor did they likely want it written. Maybe because it’s about the most joyous time in their lives, something that many of us dream of experiencing ourselves.
Whatever the reason, I looked at that obnoxious, over-written post and said, “No. I’m not going to judge these people.” This easy piece of dreck, almost hand-crafted for me, personally, to roll my eyes at, became a titanic challenge for my growth.
If I truly believe in my quest for empathy, it’s not just about loving Juggalos, or people who don’t get the Tenth Amendment. That’s easy. It’s about loving the Von Trapp heir in all his “heady,” “cooking-to-Taylor-Swift,” crashing-his-fiancé’s-car glory. Nothing easy is worthwhile, right?
I set out to read this piece over and over, until I could do it without that awful feeling I felt the first time—wracked with conceited, smarmy pleasure. Perhaps we all should.
Because nothing is gained from feeling smugly superior to this couple, or the announcement’s author. They, like all of us, are just striving for contentment. They are an inarguably valid target for such reproach, as we have almost fully integrated the idea that “it’s OK to punch up,” but why do it at all? For some quick emotional gain—gratification through feeling like a better human than others? Some days it’s easy to overcome this urge; other days it’s hard.
Though I’m just as guilty of this false satisfaction as we all are, for whatever silly reason, when I read that announcement for the first time, Dale Cooper’s words rang in my head. This dumb thing was my gift, and I shouldn’t treat it lightly. I haven’t.
I want to feel for Nathaniel Peters, Barbara Jane Sloan, and the author, Lois Smith Brady. Not because I understand the whimsical happiness apparent in the piece, but because I want to. I want to feel the joy these two people have found in each other; I want Brady’s expression of sheer joie de vivre about the couple’s gorgeous day to ring true, despite its alarming tone-deafness.
The more joy I share with them, the more joy I will feel. And why would you reject more joy in your life? Because it takes work? Seems like a terrible reason to me.
I have not yet finished scaling this mountain. I’ve yet to make it past the “friends with breadifits” paragraph without shaking my head. Perhaps I’ll never get there. But I’ll keep trying. This is my biggest personal bias—against these people, in this moment. I can be better.
Maybe this isn’t your quest. I’m not shaming anyone who reads that announcement solely to get an innocent chuckle at the couple’s expense. You must find your personal points of growth for yourself, and I’m not judging where your get your jollies. But for whatever reason, this piece resonated with me in a way that would be a failure to ignore.
I’m making my stand against myself, here.
I want to be better; I want to grow. And when the gift of growth hits you in the face, use the broken nose for something good. Today’s present was not one I knew I wanted, and I certainly didn’t expect it. But I’m not going to wait for it; I’m letting it happen. I will work for my joy.
