Finding Meaning in the Mess
On Monday evening, I had the honor to moderate a panel at the Justice Film Festival for the Oscar-nominated short, I Am Ready, Warden. In the film, we meet Aaron Castro, who was only a boy when his father was murdered in cold blood.
Aaron grew up hating his father’s killer. He hated him. And understandably so. Who wouldn’t? The killer never fled the country. He never apologized. He was never held accountable. There was no justice.
Aaron’s hatred simmered for years, and one day, he got the shock of his life. Authorities had found his father’s killer in Mexico and were going to bring him back and charge him in Texas. The killer was sentenced to death. Finally, closure, right?
Well, not really. Aaron didn’t celebrate. He grieved. “Another life lost, too young,” he said. And what’s more, just before he was executed, Aaron’s fathers’ killer recorded a voice message, in which he apologized to Aaron.
Aaron received that message on the day of the execution, and it was then, in that moment, after years of harboring hatred for this man, that Aaron made a new decision. It was time to forgive this man.
I found his decision stunning. Improbable. Superhuman. How could he just decide, after spending his whole life hating this man, to suddenly forgive him. I had the opportunity to ask Aaron to walk us through his mental processing, and his response was one of the most profound things I’ve ever heard. He said, “I know what it’s like to know that someone wants your father dead. I spent my whole life living with that pain. When I learned the killer had a son, who is about the same age I was when my father was killed, I knew that I had to relieve him of that burden. I couldn’t be the guy who wanted his father dead. I had to end the cycle of hate.”
Aaron’s rationale was even more stunning than his decision to forgive. He didn’t know this boy personally, and he never would, and he didn’t even see him as being connected to the murder. Instead, he saw him as a child, like any other child, whose pain he could absorb. And he made that sacrifice, despite it being exceedingly difficult for him.
It was a beautiful reflection and a beautiful gesture, and Aaron is a beautiful human being. I’ve been thinking about him since, especially as we see so much pain and division and contention all around us. What might it look like for us to absorb one another’s pain, to sacrifice for one another, to end the cycle of hate?
I said this to Aaron onstage then, and I’ll say it to you now. I have no idea how I would respond if I was in his situation. I don’t know if I’d be willing to forgive. And at the same time, I am confident that I would have the capacity to do so. Why? Because there are people all around us—like Aaron and so many others—who have shown us that it’s possible for us to meet the worst of our humanity with the best of our selves. It’s not easy, and it takes time, and sometimes we might even have to fight with ourselves. But it’s possible. And that’s all the hope I need at this moment.
This week, I’m also thinking a lot about finding meaning in the messiness because I had a powerful conversation about it on my podcast with one of my favorite people, Kelly Corrigan. She’s a New York Times Bestselling writer and hosts a fantastic television show and a great podcast, and she’s been such a generous friend to me. And also, as I’ve gotten to know her, I’ve realized she is also someone who has developed an ability to learn and grow through the ups and downs of our daily lives. I loved our conversation, which is live now on Wisdom & Practice. I’m also posting an excerpt of it below in case you’d like to read a bit of it here.
Simran Jeet Singh: This curiosity and this practice of noticing–is that something that's been with you since childhood, or is this something you've cultivated over the years?
Kelly Corrigan: So I'm a journal keeper. I've been writing a journal since seventh grade. And I always wanted to be a writer and so I would say like a super skill of all writers is capturing detail and the details where it's at.
I know from 15 years of doing readings to live audiences that the scenes that work have this verisimilitude that is hinging on the perfect details. Because I'm writing all nonfiction, so I have the benefit of these journals where a lot was captured. I also have the benefit of photographs, paper photographs, which I wonder when my girls are 50, if they're going to be able to find something from that time they were at camp, walking up the hill after water skiing, that will hold it all for them, that will hold all that detail in one image for them.
And then I also puzzle, like I do thousand piece puzzles. I paint and I do photography. And all of those things will train your eye to scan for patterns and for the unseen or for the light and shadow on a nose. Like, for instance, right now, I'm super aware of this white line going right down your nose. And if I were painting you, that would be the last thing I would do is get a little yellowy white on my brush and just go. [whoosh sound effect]
Same with photography, like I was really into using my macro lens, which is the short depth of field lens where you can capture like a little kid's eyelashes. Looking for something interesting about a puzzle, about a painting, about a photograph, about a scene is a practice, but it's also kind of a religion.
And like, I sort of feel like being smaller in the frame. Being like all eye, no mouth, all ear, no mouth. It's this fascinating place that you can just fall back into at any moment. And I think it could do a lot for people's anxiety levels because it's seemingly a more passive place. Like you don't have to be on. You're just coming to receive and that's just a different position.
Click here for our conversation, which is live now on Wisdom & Practice. And please rate, review, and share the show if you enjoy it!