There are days when I dread finding out what’s happening in the world. When the news of the day can feel so despairing, I try to remember this: Most people want to be a force for good.
Achieving this can be difficult, more than the fact that “being a force for good” can bring up images of Superman. Some don’t know how. They don’t know their own power. Others have lost hope of being able. They feel small in the face of overwhelming darkness. Still others may have distorted minds that create distorted means.
I see not only the desire, but the goodness that is part of the desire. It’s this goodness that I can count on. Being a force for good sounds lofty and intimidating. I’d rather be a force for goodness.
I’ve been researching my ancestors’ lives for a book that I’m writing. Like most families, there’s a range of characters, from scoundrels to near saints, but mostly in between.
My parents fall into that category of in between. They both grew up with a loving parent until sometime in childhood. For my dad, he was 7 years old when his mother died of hookworm. For my mom, she was sent to live with an aunt at age 9, and didn’t see her father again until almost half a century later. These traumas early in life impacted how they behaved for the rest of their lives. My dad was known for his volatile temper, raging at whoever happened to be within spitting distance in the family home. My mom was known for holding her cards close to the vest as well as holding a grudge.
Both wanted to be a force for good. Both were a force for goodness.
A few months ago, I had lunch with an older cousin who knew my dad. She would visit us during her holiday breaks in the 70’s, when she was a college student. When I talked about being afraid of my dad when I was young, she sympathized with, “Oh, yeah. I remember his rage.” Then she said something startling. “But what I remember most about him was his kindness.”
During a snowstorm, her plane bound for the airport nearest our home was diverted more than once. My cousin called to let my parents know that she was at an airport two states away. To which my dad replied, “Wait there. I’ll come and get you.” He drove five hours to pick up my cousin in Osh Kosh, Wisconsin and then another five hours to bring her to our house in Indiana. In a snowstorm. That’s a force for goodness.
My mom was a force for goodness in a sweet way, rather than in a heroic way. I once took my mom to a personal development retreat. In one of the workshops, we were given cards to sort through, with words on each card naming a “calling” that one might have. Activities like analyzing data or organizing teams come to mind. Out of about 50 cards, Mom chose just one. On the card was written: “Bringing Joy to Others”.
She loved to give small gifts to people in her life. Mom would give a trinket to a neighbor after a vacation in Las Vegas or stock my family’s fridge with a styrofoam container of roast duck on the way home from a local Asian market. That was her goodness shining through.
Photo by Antoni Shkraba Studio
BTW–When Mom revealed that her calling was bringing joy to others, I thought this was pretty wimpy. I was a thirty-something engineer. What did I know about life? Not much.
When I first started coaching, I came up with an analogy. Each person is like a jewel that, over time, gets covered in mud. My job is to recognize the jewel that has always been there and help remove the mud. The brilliance that is the jewel is then revealed.
After 23 years of coaching, I trust in the dazzling light that is each of us, often hidden away, but never lost. This is the force for goodness that I try to remember when times are challenging. And now, I hope you do, too.