For the Love of Humanity

I think a lot about the elderly couple who asked me to take a photo of them on their favorite bench. About the woman I shared glances with at a coffee shop where a few male customers were being particularly loud. I think about the baby that stared at me while I made funny faces while riding the ferry back from Mackinac Island.  About the man who got out of his car to help me carry the groceries thatI dropped in the middle of the street. I've never seen these people more than once. Their lives and even their names are a mystery to me. I would not be able to pick them out while crossing the street, and yet the thought of them warms my heart anyway. 

We as a culture talk a lot about love in its many forms. Romantic love seems to dominate this discourse, and I cannot blame the intrigue we have with it. It is fiery and passionate, and as always with fire, people get burned. Then there is the softer kind of love, steady in its presence. The love felt by family, between parent and child or brother and sister. In its best form, it is unconditional and in its absence, we feel the deep pangs of abandonment. A hole that we fill with the third kind of love, the love of friendships. Sometimes these friendships deepen into the familial kind of love. However, even in light-hearted, jovial friendships, we find laughter. A laughter that takes us out of mundanity and roots us into the present moment. 

These forms of love are essential to the human experience and they have been depicted time and time again in music, movies, and literature. However, this is not the love I am talking about. I am talking about the love we have for strangers, for the ways humans touch our lives once only to leave. The Greeks called this love "Agape". The word itself seems to have several definitions ranging from sacrificial love to charitable love. I like to think about it as the love for humanity. A love that goes beyond individual interactions, but a deep appreciation for your community as a whole. 

It is the feeling I get when at a local coffee shop, a long line at the amusement park, or a concert for a small indie rock band. A feeling that I am a part of something greater, and that shared humanity is a good thing. Religion served this purpose, but increased secularization means that many feel lost and uprooted from this sense of community. Only recently have I fully understood the extent of its importance and begun to intentionally cultivate it in my life. 

It has involved me overcoming the awkwardness of talking to a stranger. It has involved me volunteering, not for the hours or a boost on my resume, but to feel like a part of something greater than myself. It involves me making an effort every day to root myself in the community I have established for myself. This is hard, especially in the stage of life I’m in. One that is marked with uncertainty and movement. How do I ground myself only to uproot myself again? 

Funnily enough, when I think about this, Queer Eye’s Bobby Berk comes to mind. He advocates for a well-kept, homey space no matter how temporary. According to him, “Your home should be a sanctuary”. I think this advice applies to more than just decorating. I think wherever you are, and for however long you need to create a safe place to land. This means nurturing all kinds of love and creating a sense of belonging. Sometimes that starts with something as simple as saying hello to a stranger.