Nothing to be afraid of

Let's talk about motivation for a minute. 

Everything we do is motivated by something else, whether intrinsic or extrinsic, whether pure or adultered, whether altruistic or selfish, whether obvious or subtle. 

In all of my collective mental deliberations in daily life and worldwide travel, I have yet to see a more powerful motivator than fear. 

From the top down, fear is disseminated within the masses and weaves itself into the fabric of society.  It is unseen, effective, and toxic.  

It becomes so much a part of our society that we don't even recognize its presence.

I don't know if it's a natural human instinct or if we've learned it over the course of our existence, but I know I see it in every culture I've ever had the privilege of interacting with. 

I see it when I walk down Broadway, when I sit in my classroom, and when I roam the world in July. 

It's the idea that there is an "us" and a "them" and that we are more different than alike. 

I have the perfect example. 

There were these two boys that kept circling the edge of the area where we live.  I don't think they were more than eight years old, but I'm not the best judge of age across cultures. 

We were working on our clay stove and they were trying to see as much as they could from thirty yards away.  At first they just watched us, but as they grew more comfortable they started getting our attention with Arabic greetings and salutations.  When we looked up to respond it was easy to see that they had a different agenda than a simple greeting. Neither of them knew a single word of English, but they both knew how to gesture with one finger that they weren't there to be our friends. 

We all looked at each other, then at them, and then shrugged it off.  They had obviously been exposed to American culture at some point and giving more attention to the situation wasn't going to benefit either party.  

We returned to building our stove, but they only grew louder and more offensive.  We continued ignoring and they continued bantering. 

While our presence in the village is welcomed by the majority, you can imagine that westernized women without their heads covered can be seen as a threat by some.  Obviously, the parents of these children didn't hold us in the highest regard and these were the tiny little outlets of that sentiment. 

Here is where it gets interesting - If you read this blog the last time I was in Israel then you will remember my friend, Yasser.  This local Bedouin man is deaf, but reads lips if you speak Arabic, and uses hand gestures. He has no idea that none of us understand exactly what he is saying, but he refuses to not communicate and forces interaction until he's certain that we've connected on a human level.  He's is a constant presence in the our camp, always outdoing us in anything and everything we do.  He's one of my favorite humans in the planet. 

So he's in our circle and watching the entire interaction between the boys of his village and the group of outsiders. 

The situation escalates to the point that the boys feel like they are brave enough to enter the fenced area.  We decide, as a group, to entertain ourselves by simultaneously sprinting towards them on the count of three.  Their bare feet carry them out of sight until all we can see is the dust between us and them. Their laughter combines with ours in the space between our cultures, connecting us ever so slightly. 

We go back to our stoves.  They come back for more, this time with more enthusiasm. 

Yasser actively spectates the entire interaction.  Eventually, he stands up, walks to the edge of the fence, and calls my name, "Kelty!  Kelty!"  

I look up to see him with an arm around each boy.  He looks at the tops of their heads and then at me, an unspoken/international/language defying gesture to let me know that they were with him, and that that, in and of itself, made them part of us.

I responded without hesitation by walking towards him with my hand extended.  

He was the middle man. He was the overlap.  He was the safety.

If they could see they he loved them and that he loved us, then maybe they didn't have to be afraid. 

He walked directly towards me and modeled a proper male-to-female greeting with an extended handshake. We both looked back with exaggeration to make sure they were watching.

I stayed where I was with my hand extended towards the boys.  We engaged in several rounds of inching closer to one another before they sprinted back to the fence.

We made contact the third round.  

We shook hands.

Minutes later the boys were sitting next to me as I boiled lentils and grilled eggplant on the fire pit.  They laughed and ran around the inside of the fence as though it was their own backyard.  

Yasser had gone to take a nap.  He was nowhere in sight. 

But the boys remained. 

Unafraid and uninhibited. 

I've been replaying the entire situation in my head for the past two days. From the moment they circled the outside of the fence to the moment they circled the fire pit.

I can't get over it. 

I watched these two little angels, motivated by fear of the other, cross over cultures and worlds and fences in a matter of minutes - all because of one tiny little deaf villager.  

I can't get over it. 

He saw them.  He saw us.  He saw himself as the bridge and he made the connection.

There was no longer "us" and "them" because one person wasn't afraid to be "both" at one time. 

I'll never get over it. 

I'll remember it for always. 

I'll remember it when I feel misunderstood by an opposing force.  I'll remember it when I feel different.  I'll remember it when I see someone that is different.  I'll remember it when I use classifieds that draw lines in the sand. 

I'll remember it to the point that I recognize it, call it by name, and disarm it.

Fear.

I will recognize aggression and accusatory statements and defensiveness as what it is. 

Fear.  

I will disarm it by looking for ways to be "both" and by extending my arm towards the other. 

I think that, at our heart, we all want to connect with one another, but we are really afraid of one another.  

It makes sense.  We've spent the entirety of humanity trying to kill the other. Evolution alone would teach us to preserve ourselves and see diffeernces as a threat.

But I saw the entire framework unravel within a single hour of my life.

I pulled the thread of fear from the tapestry of my life. 

I'll never get over it.  And in remembering it, I will refuse to be motivated by it. 

There are far too many motivators to choose to live in fear.  

It's true. I watched it happen. 

I'll live in that forever.