Over the winter break I worked a bit for my mom’s friend, Carol. She and my mom had worked for the same law firm and had become best friends many years ago, and Carol had very expensive and extravagant tastes. This meant that what I mainly did was organize her “mid-century modern” house and, as my mom called me, serve as her “girl Friday” which I never truly understood the meaning of, but derived that it meant running any and all sorts of errands. I practically broke my back sorting over three decades of Gourmet and Bon Appétit magazines into boxes and once totally embarrassed myself in the checkout line at Randall’s when I had to check through over one hundred cans of Fancy Feast to make sure I had picked the “with gravy” variety. Nevertheless, Carol also just liked to talk, and one day she stopped me to ask what my classes were like at UT. I started talking about our class, and we eventually came to Earthlings and how I was still struggling not to eat meat. Carol said that she was happy she had never seen anything like it because she knew she’d have the same problems too, but I knew that she never would really face the problem: like we’ve talked about in class before, she was happy with being blissfully ignorant. She then began to talk about how she doesn’t understand the fuss made over fur coats and related a story when someone confronted her, in her mink coat, in an elevator. She replied, “Well, look at your shoes and your wallet” (both of which were leather) and turned away from her assailant. She said that there has to be a point when you must force yourself to forget the ethical issues behind every decision you make, that otherwise we would be overwhelmingly overcome, constantly guilty and consumed by the fact that we couldn’t do everything right. Essentially, that we, at a certain level, have to forget that a trip to the movies could have been replaced by an “operation [which] could restore someone’s sight in a third-world country.” (Dass 10) She wasn’t being harsh or uncaring or saying that we should forget all or most ethical dilemmas, but purely being practical.
Fur and leather. Sure, what's the difference, but that doesn't mean that both are acceptable just because people are using it.
Lady Gaga's statement against fur
http://www.radio538.nl/upload/3344694_661_1249991564622-Lady_GaGA_kermitpak.jpg
Given the difference in our ages, my state as her “employee” and the fact that I would have been up against a high-profile attorney, I didn’t want to argue with her. But I definitely had many problems with what she was saying. I admit I’m an idealist, an identity which I truly hope isn’t simply attached to my youth, but I don’t want to believe that I could forget what is right or wrong simply for convenience’s sake. What we think is “realistic” now may only be because people are not taking the time to collectively make positive change. If we all set aside ten percent of our salary to charity, then that would become the reality. Practicality seems just like a convenient shortcut to me. We should confront every ethical problem faced before us, from animal rights to just being kind to the dog you see walking down the street.
I know this is kind of silly, but Blockbuster's reminder to "Be kind, rewind" is a perfect example of the little issues. I would always fuss over rewinding movies when I was done, but it's just a little kindness that makes a stranger's day better in a small way. And how annoying was it to open up a movie and see that someone had carelessly chosen not to rewind it for you?
But these “levels” of ethical problems really started to bother me. Why was it that I could care so much about the “headline” issues of ethics—the death penalty, treatment of animals, and global poverty—while thinking that the little issues could wait? We are faced with mini-dilemmas every day where the solution is very clear. Thoughts like, “A friend is having a hard time. I think I should phone to see how she is, but I just don’t feel like doing it tonight,” (Dass 9) happen all the time but we don’t give them a moment’s thought. Taking the time to care for others or make simple helpful choices like recycling paper not only help others but enrich your own life. We all know the wonderful feeling you after volunteering: I was addicted to it and left each time knowing that those I had helped were really helping me in return. Like Dass says, true help should blur the distinction between the “helper” and the “helped.” We should think of our well-being collectively: “if one of “Us” needs help, if one of Our arms gets caught in a door, naturally we use the other of Our arms to set it free.” (Dass 50)
It is ultimately more beneficial to view help and service in a very personal way, forgoing the easier and distanced “pity” that we may feel toward those suffering of the big “headline” issues and choosing compassion instead, an understanding that you are suffering as well because the world is not as whole as it can be. I know that I really don’t want to live conveniently but in the right way and that means not only doing what I can to help the big issues but making sure that I really and truly remember the little things.
This video shows how you can help in both grand and small ways. We need to make help a personal and multi-dimensional experience, caring for those who need it without closing off the opportunity that we can learn from them in return.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zxcgzjv2Yf4
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